


In Time

by axxtxy



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Multi, Multiple chapters, Slow Burn, Smut Eventually, angst-ish, friends without boundaries???, idk what to to tag I’m so sorry, unspoken understanding idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28772478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axxtxy/pseuds/axxtxy
Summary: A story of a bond forged by the Gods that will be tested by the trials and wars of life.(I just really love Hvitserk (and Ubbe but mostly Hvitserk))
Relationships: Hvitserk (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s), Ubbe (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my first work and I’ve been working on it over the past few weeks. I currently have the first 8 chapters written and I am so excited to share them with you! Please leave any constructive criticism or thoughts below and let me know what you think! I’ll be adding the next chapter later today or tomorrow. 
> 
> The work will loosely follow the canon plot line for a while, while I weave my character into the Lothbrok’s story. However, as the story unfolds it will stray more and more into the original work I have planned. There will be some tweaks to events/relationships in the show to help guide the story in the direction I aim to take it. I will further elaborate as they come to pass.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siggy is incorporated into the story but she was never Earl Haraldson’s wife and Asta was her daughter instead of Thyri. Also, Siggy and Rollo were not together for the sake of the plot line. Instead, Siggy ended up with a Viking named Makao and thus, Asta was born.

Asta pushed through the market, shoulders bouncing off those in the crowd among her as she slithered through the townspeople with a purpose. Her bow was secured across her chest, the bowstring cutting annoyingly into the skin on her back through her tunic, holding it tight to her body. The sword sheathed at her hip tapped occasionally against her leg as she barreled through the crowd, head cocking slightly to the side as she heard that unforgettable laugh rise above the noise around her. She couldn’t help the face-splitting grin that etched across her lips as her pace quickened and her feet guided her mindlessly towards the sound that was none too familiar. Like a cat on the prowl, her eyes scanned around briefly before they locked onto the honey kissed braids she knew to be the source of the sound, and she slowed (if only slightly) as she advanced toward the two young men she had been in search of, both too engrossed in their conversation to see her. Approaching from behind, Asta reached up to gently grasp onto the strap of leather that held the array of braids and loose strands of hair in one mass down his back, giving it a not so gentle tug that caused his neck to snap back from the sudden jolt. Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she met the surprised muddy hazel eyes with her own piercing green, an excited fire dancing behind them. Hvitserk’s lips parted from the force, but they quickly transformed from a surprised ‘o’ into a lopsided grin as he snaked his arms around Asta’s waist.

“Asta! And here we thought the wolves must have took you from us,” He teased and she quickly clutched at his shoulders as the ground was lost beneath her feet, braids forgotten as he spun her around a few times before setting her back down. He placed a forceful and hasty kiss to her temple as she tried to regain her balance, causing her to stumble back into the hard chest of their other companion. The smile that had graced her lips since she heard Hvitserk’s laughter remained as she quickly spun around and pulled Ubbe into a bone crushing hug. He returned it with his own, her feet lifting from the ground once again as he locked her into his hold. A small breath of air was pushed from her lips at the motion and she felt the rumble of his chuckle even if she couldn’t hear it due to the hustle and bustle around them. Her cheeks flushed slightly and as soon as her soles hit the dirt path once again, she was quick to jab her palm against his shoulder as a small retaliation.

“And hello to you too, Ubbe.” She laughed, and gently swayed, allowing her shoulders to knock gently between the both of theirs. She directed her gaze towards Hvitserk who was watching them with amusement sparkling in his eyes, a sly grin pulling at his lips.

“I’ve been training with Hellevi,” she informed them, offering an excuse for the lack of her presence over the past week. Ubbe swept one of his arms in front of them to signify the start of their journey and the small group easily fell into step with one another, Asta’s shoulders still bumping back and forth between the brothers. “What is the point of sailing to the Mediterranean if I do not live to reap its riches and spread the tales of its sights to see,” she teased the pair as they continued to aimlessly stroll through the outskirts of the market, heading towards the forest surrounding the great city. Ubbe remained silent, his hands clasped together behind his back and from the corner of her eye Astra could see his smile falter just a bit. Her chest tightened slightly as she realized the sore spot she had unintentionally struck in mentioning the approaching voyage. With Bjorn leading the venture, Ubbe felt the weight of responsibility fall upon him as the oldest of Aslaug’s sons, and he had dutifully agreed to stay behind to oversee day to day life in Kattegat, as well as tend to Aslaug. She had become a drunken mess over the past years, and showed little interest in much of anything beyond Ivar anymore. The looming voyage would mark the first time the three had been truly separated since the accident that had claimed Asta’s mother Siggy’s life. The three had been lulled onto the thinning ice one cold Winter day, and Siggy had barely saved the three of them, trading in their lives for her own. Thoughts of her mother still plagued her mind, and she harbored ill will of Harbard deep in her loins. She blamed the wanderer for the misfortune that he carried with him. She knew he was a master of trickery and manipulation and eluded some sort of magic that had resulted in her mother’s death. When Ragnar and her father, Makoa, had set sail to Paris for the final time, the three were brought along for their first voyage. Ragnar had no longer trusted Aslaug with the protection of their sons in his absence and Makoa had given into Asta’s sobbing pleas not to be left behind. Asta brought a hand to rest on Ubbe’s elbow, offering a soft squeeze of comfort. The three each had their own ghosts that haunted them, but they had always relied on one another to keep them at bay. Hvitserk, also noticing the change of mood, was swift to fill the air between them.

“You are quick to wound my honor, Asta. You believe I would allow harm to befall you in my presence?” Hvitserk quickly quipped, his elbow darting out to connect with her ribs, shaking her from her thoughts and into the present moment again.

Her eyes flashed from his older brother to him, grateful for the distraction he provided. The corner of her eyes crinkled as her eyebrows drew up. “I do not believe you will allow it, but seeing as I can best you in a dual, how are you to prevent it?” She chose her words carefully, tipping her nose in the air as she jutted her chin out, pride swirling in her chest. Hvitserk scoffed, his eyes rolling slightly but the corners of his lips turned up regardless.

“You cannot best me and you know it,” he retorted, lazily slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. His knuckles roughly scraped at the top of her head, pulling on the roots of her braids causing a dull throb to radiate through her scalp. Quickly, she twisted from his grip and gave him a shove, her nostrils flaring slightly as pieces of hair he had pulled loose from their twists wisped across her face.

Ubbe was quick to receive Asta into his hold, and he wrapped an arm tight around her waist, pulling her into his side to keep her at bay from attacking Hvitserk. He knew well enough from past experience the two would end up twisted in a knot of limbs and wrestling until one called mercy if he did not intercept.

“Will you be joining us on our trip?” Ubbe inquired, drawing her attention away from his little brother who was feigning innocence with his hands raised in front of him and a glimmer in his eye as they continued their stroll, now in the forest and following a worn path through the trees. Her green orbs were still narrowed in on Hvitserk, who was pretending not to notice as he picked a long blade of grass and stuck one end into his mouth, absentmindedly beginning to gnaw on it and twirl it around his tongue, but she answered anyways.

“Hmm, yes. How could I miss it?” She admitted softly, finally moving her gaze to glance up at Ubbe. It was the last trip the three would take before her and Hvitserk set sail. _Potentially the last trip the three would ever take together_ , the thought taunted her, weaseling it’s way into her mind. His grip around her tightened briefly and he offered no words in return but instead a genuine smile as he nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment. Hvitserk had wandered a few paces ahead of them and once the path opened into a field, he found a patch of long grass to stretch out in leisurely. He crossed his legs at his ankles and folded his arms to rest behind his head in a makeshift pillow. Ubbe released Asta from his grip finally and she strolled the short distance over to Hvitserk, plopping down next to him. She stuck her elbow out to catch his stomach as she hit both him and the ground, resulting in an instantaneous groan. A satisfied giggle leaked through her lips as she sprawled out at his side, laying perpendicular to him so she could rest her head on his stomach, careful to avoid the hand that was now clutching it. She offered an airy apology, “Sorry. But you had it coming,” casting a sideways look up at him through her lashes.

Hvitserk moved his hand to run his fingers absentmindedly through some of the loose tendrils of her hair, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips before he spoke. “I suppose I did,” he admitted, quirking his lips up into a lazy smile. The two of them sat in a comfortable silence for a while, watching the sky slowly shift from blue to purple, with hues of orange and pink peaking through as the sun reminded the world that it was not finished with the day quite yet. The sound of wood on wood drew Asta’s attention from the sky towards Ubbe, who was now bent over a small pile of sticks and logs he had accumulated for a fire. Dragging herself to her feet, Asta set off to try and find a rabbit or two for dinner, leaving Hvitserk to his thoughts and the sky and Ubbe to his fire.

Asta creeped silently through the forest that surrounded the clearing the three had become achingly familiar with ever since their devastating return from that final voyage to Paris. The space had provided a haven away from the realities of the world, and some assortment of the three could be found there spent wasting away hours of the day to escape the strife’s of life. She was careful to avoid loose leaves, not wanting to startle potential prey. As her eyes shifted through the foliage and she crept onward, her mind began to wander. Her thoughts traveled to her father, and the corners of her mouth turned down slightly. Ever since the death of her mother, their relationship had been strained. Losing Siggy had broken her father in irreparable ways, and the backhandedness of the whole situation did little to help. They never discussed it, but it always weighed heavy on her conscious that she knew, deep down, her father blamed her for her mother’s death. He would never speak the words aloud and sometimes Asta wished he would simply air his thoughts, hoping it might alleviate some of the pressure bearing down on her soul. But she was always too cowardly to press it. As much as the thought picked at her mind, eating her alive, she was grateful he never made it tangible between them. Her father had kept her at what felt like arms length and she lacked the nurture a mother provided. Her father did not attempt to fill that void, often gone for weeks at a time on some new escapade. As she grew older, the distance only grew as well. She knew that he cared for and loved her in his own way, but she also knew the ache the sight of her left in his chest, as he had drunkenly admitted to one evening. Her eyes continued to look around as she stalked through the forest, but she wasn’t really looking as her mind traveled back to the memory from a few Summers prior that left a lump in her throat and a bitter taste on her tongue.

_It was the night before the raiding party was set to embark on this Summer’s journey, and Asta had left the feast early once she saw her father barely unable to sit in his own chair, filled to the brim with ale and surrounded by his fellow Viking brothers. She had decided to take it upon herself to make sure her father’s belongings were stored away for safe travels (it was something her mother had always done, and a role she had assumed after her passing) and that he had everything he would need to prepare himself for the journey ahead. She had busied herself for only the Gods know how long before her father came stumbling through the front door, bracing himself against the wall as it slammed shut behind him. Asta had her back to him, absentmindedly stuffing some ginger into one of the sacks in front of her in case her father fell ill to seasickness. He lunged forward, pushing from the wall and grabbing at the back of her elbow to spin her around._

_“Siggy, my love! Oh how I’ve-“ her father cut off as Asta’s shoulders squared in front of him, and his face fell quickly from glee to disappointment. His hand dropped from her skin, recoiling back into his own chest as if she had burned him, and his gaze fell to the floor, looking anywhere but at her as he shuffled backwards. Her lips parted slightly as she felt her eyes begin to prick. She reached a hand up to caress her fathers cheek but he continued to back away, shaking his head from side to side as an exasperated noise left his lips. “Why Freyja?” He screamed, throwing his hands into the air as he plummeted to his knees, his balled fists colliding with the floors. “Why must you curse me and play your silly little games with me, hm?” He screamed the question to no one in particular, and Asta felt the tears brimming, threatening to spill over and fall down her cheeks. “Why must you taunt me with a daughter crafted after my beloved Siggy. My Siggy... that you stole from me!” He heaved out, the words catching on his breath as his shoulders shook with silent sobs that quickly gained vocalization. Asta was frozen in place, her hands splayed across her lower face, covering her mouth as her shoulders too shook with sobs; what were once tears now a steady stream of salt water escaping from her eyes. Time stood still as the two remained as they were for what seemed like forever, until Asta had mustered the strength and will to slip into her cloak and leave her father cursing the Gods on the floor of their home, escaping to the comfort of Hvitserk and Ubbe as she so often did._

She was jerked to the present when she heard a twig snap off in the distance to her right and her head swiveled quickly to follow the sound. Her eyes stopped scanning when they locked onto her target: a doe who was grazing between the trees, head lost in the tall grass. Asta slowly raised her bow, sliding the arrow into place and drawing back the string. Her breathing evened out and her fingers lightly ghosted across the expanse of her cheek, steadying her hand as she drew in a deep breath. Upon releasing her breath, she also released the bowstring and tracked her arrow until it found home, lodging into the does side.

A small smile plastered across her lips as she dragged the animal behind her back to their makeshift camp, where she found Hvitserk and Ubbe lounging about the fire that was now roaring with warmth. The pair of brothers eyed her impressively as she neared them, both of their faces warped with grins. She dropped the legs of the doe as she collapsed besides them, huffing out a loud breath of air. Leaning back onto her palms, Asta stretched her legs out in front of her and jerked a quizzical eyebrow up, glancing between the two of them. “Now which of you will be a deer and prep supper?” She couldn’t help the laugh that spilled from her mouth as she threw herself back into the grass, sighing contently as she listened to her closest friends conclude that the last to return from the cliff and back would have the honor. She heard a soft grunt and a thud, causing her to lift her head. Hvitserk was barreling towards the trees, his laugh echoing around them as Ubbe pushed himself up from the ground, dirt covering the front of him as he huffed after his brother, calling him a cheater.

The silence left in their wake was short lived as Hvitserk tumbled through the tree line again, falling forward and catching himself at the last second, using his momentum to somersault forward and up into a sprint again in one fluid motion. His feet carried him the remainder of the way to where Asta remained sprawled out, and he collapsed next to her with a grunt onto his stomach, his cheek pressed into the grass, facing towards her. She couldn’t help the laugh that poured out of her, bringing a hand up to gently brush away hair that laid wildly across his face, sticking to the thin layer of sweat dusting his skin. His eyes cracked open as he offered her a small smile, his hand coming to rest on her wrist while she finished brushing his face clear. Once her fingers left his skin, his hand dragged down her arm until he found her hand, tangling their fingers together messily and letting the knot that now connected them rest in the space between them.

“You,” Ubbe approached, wagging his finger in Hvitserk’s direction, who was now feigning sleep to avoid his brothers wrath, “are not fair.” His pace was no faster than a walk now. He had given up halfway through the race when Hvitserk shoved him down on the ground not for a second, but third time, and twisted his ankle after it snagged on a branch. The pain had faded to a dull ache by the time he made it back. Asta tried to keep her smile at bay as she used her free hand to press a finger to her lips, eyes going wide in mock horror as she shushed him, jerking her head towards Hvitserk. Ubbe clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, waving her off with a flick of his wrist and a hiss of air between his teeth, but he set to work on the deer regardless.

“Wake me when it’s finished,” she mumbled softly, her eyes slipping shut as exhaustion overtook her. She heard Ubbe click his tongue at her again, and a small smile sparked across her face as she succumbed to slumber, Hvitserk’s hand still heavy in her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to use Siggy’s ending in the series as a way to thread my character into the Lothbrok’s past while providing a source for the bond she has with the boys without it seeming too forced or too quick. I hope you enjoyed!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly a filler chapter. I just wanted to provide a slight peek into my take on Hvitserk’s psyche before the next chapter!

Asta had her back propped against the post of the small fence that bordered the entrance of the small hunting cabin. It provided the perfect place to hang their furs out to air the stench of the past few days catches, which some of was smoking over the fire with Sigurd’s helping hand. Her nimble fingers were tangled in Hvitserk’s hair, mindlessly working small chunks into tight braids against his scalp to his crown, where she let them begin to flow freely down his back. She had her knees pulled up towards her chest, and Hvitserk balanced his back against them with his head tipped back, eyes closed as he soaked up the approaching summer sun into his skin and the feeling of her fingers dragging across his head. Ubbe was leaning against the door frame, gaze cast to the open land in front of them when he suddenly straightened up, his fingers ghosting over the handle of the axe strapped to his hip. Asta noticed his change of posture from the edge of her sight and immediately her eyes followed the path of his own to lock onto a lone figure approaching on horseback. Her fingers quickly pulled from Hvitserk’s hair, a few strands not yet finding way from her grip as she tugged his tresses, causing his eyes to shoot open. With a jerk of her chin, Hvitserk quickly sat up and noticed the approaching visitor as well, raising a hand to cover his brow and block the direct sunlight from his rest sensitive eyes. 

“It’s just Bjorn,” Ubbe commented matter of factly after a few moments, causing them all to rise to their feet as the tension eased from their bodies only slightly as they quietly pondered their own assumptions and reasonings for his sudden appearance. Ubbe slipped into the cabin to retrieve Ivar as Hvitserk settle back down, this time resting his back against the fence as he pulled out his pocket knife, spinning it between his fingers with a practiced ease. Asta made busy finding them all a horn to drink from as Sigurd grabbed one of the many small barrels of ale they’d brought with to quench their thirst and set it on the small table. 

Ubbe exited the cabin and immediately began to creep towards Bjorn’s growing figure, head cocked slightly to the side. The rest of the group settled around the table, Ivar pulling himself up to sit on a stump, grabbing ahold of his legs and flinging them in front of him to stretch. Asta watched as Bjorn slid off his horse, tying the black stag off alongside theirs before clasping forearms with Ubbe. The pair huddled together as they approached, before settling down amongst the eager ears awaiting them. 

After they all held their own cup of ale, Bjorn proceeded to share the details he’d only just discovered of the settlement in Wessex. Asta’s eyes quickly darted between the boys around her, lifting her cup to her lips and sipping eagerly as her body began to hum with a nervous buzz as she anticipated who would speak first. Silence impregnated the air until Ubbe lightly cleared his throat, his hand scratching across his beard. 

“Do you think our father never knew?” He asked the open air, swirling his cup now half full of ale around in his hand. 

Bjorn was the first to reply, with a quick, “It’s possible.” After some pondering he added softly, “In those early days, it wasn’t easy to navigate the sea.”

Hvitserk, who had been silent and engrossed in his knife thus far, finally looked up from the small device. It spun around slowly in the fingers of one hand, the tip of the blade digging into the pad of one of his other fingers. “He knew,” he interjected finally, eyes fluttering back down to his finger as the blade pierced his skin, drawing a pearl of blood to the surface. He absentmindedly wiped the blade against his pants, returning his eyes to the small crowd in front of him again. “He had to.” 

“If he did, he should have told the people,” Sigurd cut in, drawing their attention to his hunched over form as he picked meat from a bone, shoving it into his mouth and chewing it over thoughtfully. “Everyone lost relatives,” he continued. “Fathers and uncles, sons and daughters. They would have demanded revenge.” 

“That is why he didn’t tell them,” Ivar said with exasperation. He had lowered himself from the stump to instead lean back against it for support, allowing his legs to stretch out in front of him again after they’d started cramping and sending spurts of pain shooting up his back. Not that he allowed anyone in on that information. 

“What do you mean?” Ubbe questioned before finishing off his last swallow of ale. 

“It was a waste of time,” Ivar offered simply, shrugging his shoulders and his eyes widened in mock innocence as they famously did, despite being anything but. His sight floated between the faces around him, some stoic and others drawn together in confusion. “They were dead!” Ivar could see the gears turning in each of their heads individually, and he sat in silence waiting for someone to catch on. 

“Ragnar wanted to sail to Paris,” Asta mumbled softly, the corners of her lips turning down slightly as she considered the weight of her words; the selfish act she was accusing their father of committing. 

“He wanted to be famous,” Ivar continued on, and Asta was unsure if he was adding onto what she had said or simply forgoing the fact she had even spoken. He was glad to have gotten an answer from someone, but nonetheless irritated that it was her that had chosen to speak up. “Isn’t that more important? Hmm?” He drug out, head swiveling as he craned his neck to peer at his brothers faces. Hvitserk and Sigurd avoided his gaze while Ubbe met it head on, shaking his head as disappointment engraved into his face. 

“You could say that,” Bjorn shrugged, eyes glued to the tip of an arrow he was twirling delicately between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“I can say that?” Ivar asked incredulously, raising his arms to lift at his side as he looked at Bjorn in bewilderment. “What does that mean?” 

“Here’s what it means,” Hvitserk cut them off, pulling his legs into himself as he leaned forward, pointing his knife towards Ivar for emphasis as his elbows came to rest on knees. “At least to me. Our father abandoned us. We were just kids and he ran off,” he snarled out, his eyebrows pulling together to the center of his forehead which creased with wrinkles. “Only the gods know if he’s still alive. And now we hear he kept this big secret from everyone. That he was not truthful. Or honest.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head side to side as if hoping the thoughts would somehow slip out of his mind and into the open air around them, carried away by the breeze and never to remembered again. He quickly snatched his ale from the ground, taking a large swig that left a dribble down his chin. 

“It makes me feel sick,” Sigurd added his thoughts, tossing the now fully cooked meat onto the table. Not that anyone was hungry anymore. “How could our father not tell the people what had happened?” 

“Maybe if he’d told them, they would have killed him,” Bjorn stated softly, finally peeling his attention from the arrow and tossing it onto the table in front of Ubbe. 

“If it’s true...,” Ubbe wondered allowed, his voice carrying a slight rasp as he cleared his throat and began again. “If it’s true that our father lied to his people and abandoned them, then I hope he never comes back.” His voice sounded clearly that time, venom dripping through into his tone more and more with every word. He picked up the arrow Bjorn had tossed and used it to stab at a chunk of meat before him. 

“He betrayed our name,” Hvitserk growled quietly, anger evident in his tone. He had flipped his knife around while lost in his thoughts and found himself clutching onto the blade instead of the handle, which cut into his skin as his fists tightened. “If he ever came back, I would kill him,” he said plainly as his lips curled up into something that danced between the lines of a snarl and smug smirk, quivering slightly as he seethed under his skin. Asta found herself subconsciously reaching down to grasp at his fingers from her place next to him, but they flexed even tighter around the knife at her touch. The frown that had settled onto her face only deepened, and she tutted him softly as she used both hands to pry the knife from his hold. He shot her an annoyed looked but uncurled his fist anyways, allowing her to pull the weapon from his grasp. 

“Me too,” Sigurd boldly agreed, puffing his chest out and setting his shoulders back from his place at the table. 

“Screw you!” Ivar threw his cup, and it bounced off the ground a few times before rolling into Sigurd’s boot. “All of you! He never did anything wrong. He is our father. And that is the end of it. You all sound like a bunch of Christians!” Ivar spat out between gritted teeth, waving off his brothers with a flick of his arm as he jerked his head to the side so he didn’t have the bear looking at them anymore. 

“I love our father as much as you do-“ Ubbe was abruptly cut off. 

“Who said I love him, Ubbe?” Ivar’s blue eyes sought his older brothers own, and the rage they shared reflected and bounced off of them like waves against a cliff wall. “I said I admired him. He’s Viking,” Ivar spat pointedly, gesturing towards Ubbe. “And you are soft!”

Ubbe took offense, quick to his feet that carried him towards Ivar’s place on the ground, jabbing the tip of the arrow into the empty space between them. “I am not soft. None of us is soft. But we want to understand what our father did and what he was.” Ubbe spoke loudly, his tone carrying a tinge of condescension. He was crouching down to get closer to Ivar now, his head swiveling side to side as he spoke down at his little brother. “As his son, his fame does not interest me. What he used his power for, now that would interest me.” Ubbe had not blinked once, his blue orbs never faltering from his brothers. Bringing the tip of the arrow to tap against his temple he gave a moments pause before he stood up, bringing an end to his conversation with Ivar. He stalked back to his stump at the table, settling back down as he poured himself another glass of ale. 

“By now, my brothers, there will be a lot of anger in kattegat. Now they know the truth. Our father betrayed a whole generation of people.” Hvitserk finally spoke up again, voice cutting through the air, his face now void of any emotion. He held his glass up towards Ubbe, who leaned across the table to fill his brothers horn. 

“So if he ever came back-” Sigurd started, but Bjorn finally spoke up again, having heard enough slander against their father for the time being. 

“I don’t think he’s ever going to come back. I think what happened in Paris finally broke him. You can all say whatever you want, but he was a human. People started to talk as if he was a god. He was not a God, he was a man!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands briefly to the sky with a snap of his tongue against the inside of his mouth. “A man with many dreams and many failings. I’ve learned that in the years since he went away. If I was him, I wouldn’t come back.” He paused briefly, eyes fleeting to each of his brothers. “Despite all his failings, he’s still the greatest man in the world to me.” Bjorn tapped his chest lightly over his heart, before pushing himself up from his stool to seek refuge inside the cabin, where he could be alone with his thoughts even if only momentarily. 

The remaining brothers all glare at his back as he slipped inside, jealousy sparking in their chests as they were reminded for a numberless time that Ragnar had played enough of a roll in Bjorn’s life for him to hold such beliefs. Hvitserk rolled his eyes as he made to refill his glass again. He made quick work of his task before sauntering off towards the tree line, horn pressed to his lips as he chugged greedily. Ivar tipped his head back against the stump, setting his gaze upon the sky as his mind began to drift with endless thoughts. His fingers lightly tapped across the bracers that enveloped his legs, resulting in a soft thudding pattern to echo through the silence around them. 

As Sigurd started to pick at the cooling meat laid out on the table, Ubbe and Asta made brief eye contact with one another as they exchanged words without ever opening their mouths. A few moments and a knowing look later, Ubbe tipped his head slightly towards the girl, and she stood up to quickly refill her own glass and retrieve a handful of cloaks before scurrying off in the direction Hvitserk had disappeared in. Just as she was passing the first line of trees, Asta glanced back at Ubbe, who raised his glass towards her before finishing it off. He lightly tapped at Ivar’s leg with his foot, drawing his youngest brother from his trance. With a small smile ghosting across her lips, Asta made her way into the forest, the sound of Ubbe scolding Ivar for his infuriating tapping fading behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

Following the trail of snapped twigs and hacked branches, Asta took in the path of destruction Hvitserk had left in his wake. Her fingers drifted out, sliding across a particularly deep indent in a tree trunk and she quickly pulled her touch away with a squeak. She tapped the two now damp fingers together to feel the sap that was sticking to their pads. Her nose crinkled up, and she paused in her journey to vigorously scrape her skin against the bark of a tree until the substance was for the most part gone. Aimlessly rubbing her dirtied fingers into the cloaks in her arms, Asta continued along the trail Hvitserk had plowed before her. His heavy feet had trampled over all the foliage, and she could see they had taken him back and forth, bouncing from tree to tree to exasperate himself of his rage.

She heard him before she saw him, and she slowed down as she hesitantly approached the general area she heard the sound coming from. As she weaved through the trees, Asta saw his hunched shoulders beating up and down heavily, as if someone was playing his back like a battle drum as he inhaled and exhaled raggedly. His shoulders jerked suddenly as he threw them back along with his head, letting a reverberating roar shake the forest around them. Asta knew they were far enough from the cabin to remain unheard by his brothers (which was really all Hvitserk cared about), but the nearby birds could be heard fleeing from the safety of the trees into the sky, their wings beating in their own rhythmic heartbeat. Licking her lips hastily, Asta gently tossed the mound of cloth in her arms onto the ground near the base of a tree next to her. The soft thud could barely be heard over his breathing, but it caught his interest regardless as he whirled around, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened on his sword. His eyes were as wild as the waves brought on by Njord’s wrath as they took her in, currently crouched to nestle the full cup of ale she’d brought along safely upright.

Asta slowly straightened out, her eyes raking over the sight of him. His eyes stayed tuned into her every breath like a hawk, and she reached down to unsheathe the sword that had been resting on her hip all day. His shoulders still heaved with his pants, his top lip curling up slightly, once again warping into the face that swirled between an amused smirk and a snarl from the deepest parts of Hel itself. No matter how many times she faced him like this over the years, the depths of her loins still fluttered with unbridled exhilaration at the sight of him. Teetering on the edge of the unknown, suspended above the cliff and hanging on by only the thinnest of threads. She had never seen these heights of fiery rage brim behind his eyes before. Her tongue wet her lips once again as her mouth grew dry. Her breathing picked up slightly as her body hummed with what she knew was to come. She knew what he needed, what he was seeking. Asta noticed what others didn’t and even if they did, they let pass. But not her. She addressed it silently and without question, always lingering behind him like a shadow, receptive to whatever he threw her way with blind loyalty.

He was never one to put into the air plainly the things he battled in the space between his own ears, instead bearing the torment of his emotions alone hidden behind endless jests and carefully sealed lips to prying eyes. But Asta knew from the muttered curses and twists of his mouth that erupted through when the beast was aching to escape. She had seen the wolf rise from his sated slumber of the past weeks and let loose its howls for freedom around the table earlier. He constantly kept the wolf threatening to claw out of his chest at bay, masking the fire that coursed through his veins in forceful jabs, rough hands and small victories while bearing a friendly face paired with stormy eyes. She was the only one who willingly sought it out, and it had bonded them in ways even Ubbe did not fully understand. Asta craved the rush Hvitserk provided her depraved blood, the surge of cool fire he emitted for her to palpably absorb and feel. The one that reminded her of the icy water that had washed over her that night; the one that reminded her of her mother.

She quickly tossed her sword back and forth between her palms, rolling her neck and shoulders slightly as a small smirk drew up the corners of her mouth. She bobbed her hand up and down, settling the weight of the sword in her grip before finally meeting his untamed eyes straight on and cocking her head to the side. That was all it took for him to launch forward, covering the space between them within seconds, and the loud clash of metal on metal resounded in the air around them. Asta was quick to step back with the hit, absorbing the brute force Hvitserk’s lethal form allowed for. Their swords quickly separated and Hvitserk immediately jabbed at her again before her feet settled. She ducked to avoid the sharp tip and swept her left leg out, kicking his feet from under him. He caught himself on a nearby tree, and they were soon squared off facing each other again.

She knew in this state Hvitserk would always have the upper hand when it came to strength, and they were evenly matched in speed. Asta’s only advantage over him at this point was her agility, where being slighter gave her an upper hand. As Hvitserk slowly inched her backwards with his onslaught of attacks, she kept her hands tight to her body to maneuver her blade between them swiftly, catching each of his assaults. When he paused his advances only for a moment to reset his feet, she swung her sword in a backhanded arch towards his head. His hands rushed to block her movement, and she used a surge of strength to inch her blade forward, closer to his neck. Hvitserk snarled as he willingly stepped closer to her blade, causing it to nick the side of his throat as he shoved the mass of his weight into their swords, causing her to stumble backwards. It resulted in a small gap between them again, and Asta was quick to raise her blade just in time to stop his own from meeting her shoulder.

She placed her left hand on the flat of her metal at the junction where their swords met, giving a hard shove which threw Hvitserk off balance this time, disentangling their swords as he stumbled backwards. He quickly regained his footing, and set another vigorous swing in her direction. His blade barely caught her this time, nicking the exposed skin of her lower arm and a hiss escaped her lips as she jumped backwards, dodging his sword instead of blocking it. Without the force of her blade halting his, the momentum of his swing carried further than intended, and the metal of the blade lodged deep into the wood of the tree he’d slowly been corralling her towards. Hvitserk fell onto his side, unable to stop his movements and caught himself from fully dropping to the floor of the woods with his elbow. He barely registered the vibration of pain the shot through his arm as his head whipped up just in time to catch the tail of her braid disappearing between the trees. Another growl passed by his lips as he shoved himself up, breaking out into a sprint as soon as his feet brushed the ground. His sword was long forgotten, left wedged into the tree and he barely took note of her own laying abandoned on the dirt. The chase was on and as much as Hvitserk loved the heat the cadence of metal bruising metal spread through his body, the fire inside him it stoked with every clash, his ears twitched with the excitement that came from stalking his prey. Nothing compared to the way his body became one with everything around him as his senses went into overload and the predator in him took over, seeking his target with a hungry drive. It was like the world around him blurred away and the beast battled its way into his mind, fighting for a chance to finally, finally, possess Hvitserk’s body as his own.

He could hear her soft pants for a fresh breath of air as she tried to keep her breathing under control and mask herself from him, but the swordplay had taken its toll on her stamina. No matter how long, how hard, how efficiently she trained, he was always able to outlast her. She had attributed it to the wolf that lay under his skin, soaking up any and every chance it got to be set loose and hanging onto every second it could as if it would never get the chance to run free again. Hvitserk slowed to a creep, ducking down to hide amongst the brush surrounding him. As much as his blood was roaring to run, to pounce, attack, he knew that his slow approach would be far more rewarding, and the thought of victory was enough to hold the creeping feeling under wraps for now.

Asta was leaning with her back against the trunk of a tree, her legs wrapped around the sturdy branch under her as her fingers dug into the bark for purchase. She had hoisted herself up into the first layer of the green canopy of the woods, seeking refuge. She knew from experience she would never be able to outrun him, but the thought of him stalking right past her was amusing enough for her to find herself in her current position. She strained her ears for his pounding steps, but they never came. She sat as still as she could, but the only sound around her was the soft wind whistling through the leaves. She sparred a moment of her time to rip off a strip from the bottom of her tunic, knotting it off around the cut on her arm with her teeth and free hand. After a period had passed, Asta carefully lowered herself to the grass below. Her plan had worked, and she couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that spread across her lips at having outsmarted the beast. Hvitserk would be long gone by now, trampling through the surrounding forest to blow off the remainder of his steam after an unsuccessful hunt. She was lost in the thoughts of her small victory, and she had no time to react as she heard a twig snap behind her to the left.

Asta found herself face first into the floor of the woods, the wind leaving her lungs in a giant gush. She mustered all the strength she could and directed it towards her hips, bucking them from the ground and temporarily relieving herself of all of Hvitserk’s weight. She used her elbows and bent her knees, half jumping and half throwing herself a few feet forward, her back bouncing off his chest and restraining her from moving too far. Hvitserk quickly grabbed onto one of her ankles as she tried to crawl away, rising to his knees and in turn dragging her back towards him. She lost her footing as his fingernails pierced into her calf, and her chest smacked the ground as she was pulled backwards. She blindly kicked out behind her with her free leg, and she felt her boot collide with something solid. Hvitserk grunted as her heel collided with his jaw, releasing his hold on her momentarily to find better purchase. Asta quickly rolled over onto her back, shifting her weight as she hoisted from the ground with the help of her hands and landed in a crouch. Their eyes met briefly before she pounced forward, shoving Hvitserk backwards from his knees as his legs twisted awkwardly underneath them. She used his position to her advantage, allowing her fist to fly through the space between them and collide with his ribs. The attack had left him in a small spell of shock, but the throb her fist left quickly brought him back into the heat of the moment. With a growl he easily flipped their weight around, and he was on top of her once again. His arms latched onto her upper arms in a hold so tight it was sure to leave an array purples, blues and greens painted onto her skin for weeks to come.

Refusing to give up just yet, Asta used two fingers to jab with all the force she could muster with her biceps locked in place into his side, causing a howl of pain to rip through his lips. Asta thrashed underneath him, and Hvitserk set a punch wailing into her shoulder. The hiss of pain seeped through her teeth and she pushed her freed shoulder from the earth below her, rolling them through the dirt and grass between the trees a few times before they settled again, Asta on top once more. Without hesitation, Asta brought an elbow down to his stomach, trying to sneak as many hits as she could. As she was about to bring her elbow down a third time, Hvitserk caught it in his hand, throwing it to the side and catapulting her weight with it. He used the momentum to flip them once more, and he braced his hands on her shoulders, forcefully pressing her down into the land. All of his weight pressed down into his hips, trapping her own below him. She blindly threw a hand at his body, but he easily caught it and quickly adjusted his grip on her, taking her by the wrists instead and pinning them above her head. His head hung above hers, their body’s rising and falling heavily as they both sucked in the fresh air around them, finding their breathing again as an unspoken truce settled in. Their breath mingled and ghosted over each other’s faces, neither speaking or moving as they stared into each other’s eyes.

Asta could see the beast slowly receding, snorting in satisfaction at the time spent at large. She wiggled her fingers, her wrists twisting in his grasp and a small rumble boiled in Hvitserk’s chest as the wolf flashed, his eyes squinting just slightly. And then quicker than a blink, his open mouth covered hers and she absorbed the building sound from him, their teeth clacking against one another’s as he more so fought her lips with his own than kissed her. Just as quickly as it happened, it was over and the pressure of his weight was swept from her body as he rose swiftly, releasing her wrists from his grip. His eyes briefly flashed to hers and the left corner of his mouth quipped up into a small smirk as he turned around to face away from her.

“Race you,” his voice drifted behind him as he took off in a sprint in the direction of their cloaks and swords, leaving Asta in the dust. She brought herself up to rest on an elbow briefly, her other hand coming to ghost over her lips. They’d shared a handful of kisses throughout the years when the urge overtook him. Hvitserk found a sating fulfillment in the small twitch of her eyebrows as they drew together in bewilderment, or the small blush of her cheeks as she mentally stumbled through a way to strike back at him, to make _him_ swim in shock. He took large pride in the small moments of surprise he submerged her in, catching her when she least expected it. Collecting herself, Asta pushed from the ground and took off after him, putting her best effort forward for a race she knew she’d already lost.


	4. Chapter 4

Hvitserk had of course won the race and finished the cup of ale before she returned. They had walked in comfortable silence back to the hunting cabin, no words exchanged about what had just occurred as usual. Halfway through their trek back, Asta had thumped him in the back of the head, earning herself a rewarding grunt closely followed by a chuckle. They returned to Kattegat with his brothers a few days later, the game they’d caught in tow. Once they made it to the outskirts of town, Asta grabbed her portion of their profits along with the sack of her belongings. Her weapons were all strapped to her person in one way or another, and she offered the brothers a grin with full arms.

“You are coming for dinner, hm?” Ubbe questioned, his left eyebrow quirking up at the end of his question.

“Yes, I will attend dinner. I have to drop off my belongings, leave some meat for my father...,” she trailed off hesitantly, eyeing Ivar from where he was sitting on a horse behind Hvitserk’s shoulder, staring at her with a toothy grin. She lowered her tone slightly, “I have to stop and see someone before I head over,” she rushed out, readjusting the weight in her arms. Ubbe just nodded his cocked head, staring at her with his wide eyes and she appreciated he didn’t push the topic. He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, “See you later then.”

“You mean you have other friends?” Sigurd muttered as he began to walk away, heading to their great hall. Asta just rolled her eyes, offering Hvitserk a small smile and Ivar a quick nod before departing. Bjorn had long wandered off, mumbling to himself about checking the status of the boats. She made her way through the quieter paths of the town where it was all residential quarters. Her father would be down at the market, or off fishing for the day, and she wanted to leave the meat out for him to have for supper. They’d not seen each other in some time, and a guilty pang rocketed through her chest because she knew she’d be embarking on her first raid soon. He would be staying behind, meaning they would not see each other, if ever again, for a long time. She knew it was easier on them both this way. Besides, she would also be leaving Ubbe (as would Hvitserk) and she knew he valued the little time they had left together, unlike her kin.

Asta made it to their cottage and she pushed inside, laying the meat out onto the table for her father to find and dry out later. She went into her section of their home, pushing back the dried hide that was strung from the ceiling to give her some privacy. She tossed her sack into the corner of the room, and quickly grabbed one of her finer dresses from her chest. She grabbed her bar of bees wax and crushed lavender along with a fresh cloak and made her way back into the streets of Kattegat. She meandered along the path out of town she knew would lead her to the winding river that, if she was lucky, she could bathe at in peace. Her feet carried her along the familiar walk in autopilot and she found herself at the bank in no time. She quickly stripped herself of her clothes and waded into the water. Sinking to her knees, she proceeded to scrub at her dirt ridden skin with the wax until it was raw and red. Once satisfied, she tossed it to the shore. She dunked her head under the water, working her fingers through her hair as she held her breath for as long as she could; until her lungs started to heave in her chest. She broke the surface of the water, gasping for the cool air to soothe her burning organs.

Asta glanced around before exiting the water, in a pleasant mood to find she was still alone. She spread her new cloak out and sprawled out onto it, soaking in the sun that was peaking in the afternoon sky to dry her skin. As she took in the few clouds adorning the sky, a small smile crept its way across her face. She was reminded of when her mother, Siggy, would take her to the flower fields to look at the clouds and let her imagination run wild as she came up with little stories she believed fit their formation in the sky. Hvitserk would sometimes entertain her with the activity still when he could sense she was feeling detached and needed grounding. The clouds in the current sky loosely resembled a fish, an axe and a boat she decided as her mind reeled with possibilities of how to tie the three together into a story. She settled on the boat actually being a fishing boat, one that belonged to an old and experienced Viking fisherman, who would return home good on his promise to bring back enough fish to feed the entire village. She lost herself to her daydreams, remembering times her father had brought her along with him to fish...

Once she was satisfied with the blanket of warmth enveloping her, she dressed herself in her fresh apparel, slipping the cloak over her shoulders. She wrapped the soiled clothes up into the other and tied it off into a make shift knapsack. Asta set off for the short journey to the Seer’s shack, making her way through the trees instead of following the pathway. She picked as many mushrooms near the roots of the trees as she could manage to carry, losing a few along the way. Once she arrived outside the hut, she set her sack down and put the mushrooms on top, tightening her cloak around her. She made her way inside, ducking her chin to her chest slightly out of respect, “Hello, ole wise one.”

“Asta Makoadottir, keeper of the Wild, the Wolf and the Unknown,” the Seer rasped, raising a cloak hidden arm to gesture to the cushion in front of her. Asta quickly fell to her knees on it, timidly placing her hands in a knot on her thighs, twisting her fingers together. She had met no other soul that had made her as nervous as the Seer did, for the knowledge he possessed was enlightened to him directly from the Gods. “What is it you seek to know?”

“I wish to know what everyone comes to seek,” she mused softly, keeping her eyes on the empty space between them. “I wish to know what the future holds for me.”

“Ah. Then like so many, you know the words I offer may not lead you to the answers you desire, but perhaps more questions. Your future is one entwined with those of many, some that are familiar and expected, others yet to unfold but all will show soon enough. You ask what the future holds for you, but you have already begun to embrace the fate the Gods have laid out for you, having started long ago, whether you know it or not. You will face a choice so bitter and bear the weight of the Gods no matter your decision. Your very existence is the catalyst, yet the role you play is unforetold,” he rattled out, his heavy words filling the air.

Asta frowned and glanced around the hut, her mind reeling with all the information he had just spurted at her, trying to make sense of any of it. She smoothed her dress out beneath her hands, dancing her tongue across her lips before she spoke again. “And the voyage to the Mediterranean. Will I survive? And Hvitserk?” She pressed, swallowing audibly in the silence surrounding them.

“You will once again breech the shores of Kattegat, but ever changed you will be,” he eluded, brushing any further questions away with a flick of his wrist, leaving his hand to dangle in the space between them to signal her dismissal. Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, but she took his hand into her own murmuring her thanks and laid the flat of her tongue against his palm, licking a strip up to his wrist. After quickly scurrying from the tent, Asta grabbed her things and slowly set off to return to town. She replayed the words in her mind and pondered over what they could mean and what the future could hold for her. His elusive answers did nothing to aid the nerves that spiraled in her gut. The Seer had been right. Her questions had only brought answers that sprung about more questions. She had been excited for the upcoming raid, but now she was riddled with nerves. His words swirled through her mind as she tried to sort them into something sensible. Lost in thought, she noticed it had taken her longer than expected to get back to town, and she hurried through the streets, trying her best to avoid bumping into those around her to save dirtying her dress. She knew the easiest way to allude Aslaug’s sharp tongue and narrow eyes was to play the role the Queen expected of her. That was why after quickly dropping off her sack at home, she was entering Hellevi’s without waiting for an answer to the knock she had briefly tapped against the door before pushing inside. “Can you please fix my hair?” She begged her only true friend besides the brothers, who was dusting flour off of her hands onto the apron wrapped around her waist, halfway to the doorway to answer the visitor.

“Come. Sit,” Hellevi gestured to a stool by the table, biting the snark remark that was on the tip of her tongue back when she saw Asta’s pleading eyes. The girl quickly twirled herself into the seat, and Hellevi poked around the open room briefly before returning with a few threads and cords. Hellevi began to comb her fingers through her tendrils. “And where are you going, hmm?”

“Dinner,” Asta mumbled, nibbling on her lower lip. Hellevi hummed in response, her fingers making quick work in separating the girls hair into four parts. She first sectioned the top from the bottom, which she tucked into Asta’s collar to avoid adding it into the braids later on.

“Have you heard the news? Were you there?” Hellevi questioned, separating the top half into three sections.

“What news?” Asta turned her head to look at her friend, but Hellevi quickly grabbed her by the nape of the neck, straightening the girl to face forward again with a disapproving click of her tongue. She began twisting the sections individually into three braids that she planned to join into one at the end before she spoke carefully.

“Ragnar... he’s back,” Hellevi informed, deciding it was best not to beat around the bush and just put it into the air.

“What do you mean he’s back!?” Asta cried, spinning around in her stool quickly to look up at her friend who had dropped the braids she was working on to save herself from yanking on them. Sighing. Hellevi leaned into the table beside her, nodding her head.

“He returned today. Made quite the spectacle in the square. Challenged all the brothers to kill him for the crown,” and despite the seriousness of the situation, she couldn’t help the amusement that bled into her voice as she recalled the sight of Ragnar challenging not only them but the whole town to take the crown from him. “None of them did it of course,” she added as an afterthought as she saw panic pour into Asta’s orbs. The tension left her shoulders and she turned back around in her seat, silent as she digested the new information. Hellevi resumed her work quietly and was soon knotting off the braid that was now flowing down her back. She carefully scooped the rest of the hair out from under her collar and smoothed it out, before gently twirling small sections around her fingers to add definition to the curls. After, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. She had added a green thread into each braid, providing a contrast of color against the brown locks. “I’m finished, off you go,” she tutted, and Astra looked over her shoulder with an apologetic grin after she was yanked from her thoughts.

“Thank you. I’m grateful, this you know.” Asta stood and brought her friend into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“That I do,” Hellevi replied, before ushering her out of the door with a small laugh. “Now shoo! You know better than to keep the Queen waiting.” And that Asta did know. She all but sprinted her way to the great hall, mindful to go slow enough not to disturb her hair and ruin Hellevi’s masterpiece. As she approached the doors she slowed to a walk to have time to catch her breath and smooth the emerald gown. Wasting no more time, she pushed her way in through the great doors cautiously, careful to make sure it shut softly behind her.

“And where have you been?” Ivar wasted no time drawing all eyes to her, and she gritted her teeth as she made her way to the empty chair by Ubbe, across from Hvitserk who sat between Ivar and Sigurd. She bowed her head as she approached, offering a small curtsy to the Queen before taking her seat. Aslaug was seated at the head of the table and watched the girl settle in with narrow eyes above her glass of wine.

“I went to see the Seer, Ivar,” she stated calmly, meeting his eyes as she pronounced his name. She would not play the games he wanted and decided to give him the honest answer to avoid it. She knew if she didn’t feed into it, he would eventually get bored. He was giving her that stupid fucking toothy smile again and with the Gods as her witnesses she wished she could slap it from his face. Whatever he was planning to say was forgotten as the slaves began to portion out the meal onto their plates for them, before setting the leftovers in the middle of the table to be picked at later. Asta was quick to shove a piece of chicken into her mouth to save herself from having to speak any further, and she noticed from the corner of her vision Ubbe was chuckling in amusement next to her. Hvitserk seemed far off, his fingers absentmindedly stuffing the food into his mouth but he chewed slowly, which was rare and proved how distracted he was. Sigurd was hunched over his plate, his face hidden by both his hair and the shadows. No one spoke and Asta would not be the first to do so. Instead, she continued to slowly pick at her food, the tension in the room rising. She extended her foot beneath the table, careful not to move her upper body and gently bumped it against Hvitserk’s. His eyes darted up from his plate to meet her own. He offered a weak smile and hooked their ankles together under the table before he turned his attention back to his plate. She knew the events of the day had taken quite a toll on him since he usually masked whatever his true emotions were under a shit-eating grin and good humor, ever the master at keeping things lighthearted in the company of others. But today he was silent, eyes narrowed at the food he pushed around his plate, mind elsewhere. She was dying to get him or Ubbe (or both) alone to be let in on the occurrences of the day. She knew better than to bring it up in the present company to avoid confrontation.

Ivar had other plans. His voice cut through the silence like a knife. “So,” he started, slamming his cup of ale onto the table. Everyone paused their movements as they held their breath for him to continue. “Father wants to go to England. Why do you not want to go with him?” They slowly resumed their actions, ignoring his question. Not one to settle, Ivar pressed on. “Ubbe?” Aslaug’s eyes drifted between her youngest and oldest son, her right eyebrow drawing up tightly. Asta quickly averted her gaze to the food in front of her, wishing she was anywhere else in the moment as the tension filling the hall peaked.

“You know why. Now shut up,” was all Ubbe offered before he shoved another fork full of food into his mouth to end the conversation.

But Ivar was not finished. “Is it the same for you Sigurd? Or are you afraid of being seasick?” he persisted.

Sigurd leaned back in his seat, finally exposing his face to them as a scoff sounded from his lips. “I’m not afraid of anything, brother.”

“Not even me?” Ivar quickly shot back, a small smirk toying with his lips. Sigurd just gave him a level gaze for what felt like minutes before he resumed eating. One of the servants walked around and refilled everyone’s ale, and Asta was quick to chug her first glass as discreetly as she could to make sure she had another at the ready.

“So, Asta, do tell... have you been arranged for a marriage yet?” Aslaug questioned, and Asta felt her spine go rigid at the question. Her eyes snuck across the table to meet the Queens gaze as she shook her head. She felt Hvitserk gently squeeze the ankle that was trapped between his in a small gesture of comfort. Aslaug often directed conversation towards this topic seeing as Asta was both single and of age, and it was expected of her to settle down. She made sure to harp on the young maiden about it constantly. The emotional distance from her father had thankfully offered a silver lining and he had never sought out a man to marry her off to, unconcerned with the manner. Asta was frequently in the company of one or more of the sons, and Aslaug had voiced her concern multiple times that as a single woman of age, she may be deterring worthy companions for them all.

“No, not yet,” was all she gave, breaking eye contact to take a sip of her ale.

“Pity. It would be a shame to die without a husband to mourn you,” she commented, referencing her upcoming travels. “There is just so much... uncertainty around the whole voyage,” she flicked her wrist, her hand twisting in the air. “Traveling to unexplored territories to face the unknown. Only the Gods know what you are to encounter; if you are to survive. I’ve tried to stray Hvitserk from going, but he simply won’t budge.” And with that, her icy stare was now on her second oldest and Asta felt only the slight bit guilty at the relief that washed over her at Hvitserk’s expense. He kept his cool, however, only grunting in response and shoving another mouthful of food into his mouth. Asta lightly knocked her ankle against his, stifling a laugh with her cup of ale. Aslaug softly tsk’d him under her breath before turning her attention to Ivar, inquiring about his day. Once her attention was elsewhere Hvitserk shot Asta a quick wink which she responded to with a smile.

The rest of the dinner passed and no one brought up the looming topic of Ragnar. Once everyone was finished and excused themselves from the table, Ubbe, Hvitserk and Asta snuck off into the boy’s shared room. Hvitserk started a fire in the hearth and the three piled into Ubbe’s bed. Ubbe had his head on the pillows, and Asta’s was resting in the nook of his shoulder, his arm draped around her shoulders. Hvitserk was sprawled out sideways, his head on Asta’s stomach with his legs dangling off the bed from the knees down. Ubbe was rubbing small nonsense patterns against the skin of her arm, and her fingers were gently combing through the loose strands of Hvitserk’s half braided hair. Ubbe explained the majority of the events that unfolded with their father that day, Hvitserk staying quiet for the most part and only grunting or scoffing at certain points of the explanation Ubbe provided. He grabbed one of Asta’s hands from his hair and directed his attention to tracing the lines on her palm as he began to tune out his brother’s voice while he finished explaining what had happened in the center of the market earlier.

“After that, he pulled us all aside and took us into the forest. He asked us to join him on his travels to England. All of us except Ivar,” Ubbe said with a soft sigh. “We all said no, but I can’t stop myself from thinking about what it would be like to travel with Father. To see him as the great Viking that everyone else once did. What are your thoughts, Hvitserk?”

With his own sigh, Hvitserk let go of Asta’s hand and pushed himself to sit up. He shrugged his shoulders as his eyes traveled around the room before he shifted his position to look down at them.

“Too much time has passed for him to try to make amends now,” he said, eluding to both the settlement and their relationship with a finality that they knew meant he was done with the conversation. Rising to his feet, he gave them both a sheepish smile before stretching his arms above his head. “I’m calling it a night. Don’t forget we’re training tomorrow,” he reminded them both, and with that he was out the door in a few strides. Neither Asta or Ubbe commented on the fact that they were in his room, knowing he was seeking space from the pressure of the day. Asta’s body jerked slightly as she considered following after him to offer comfort, but she knew that despite their impenetrable bond, he still kept a lot of things to himself and did not want to pry or further upset him. They were silent for a spell after his departure, and Ubbe pulled her from her haze with a gentle squeeze to her arm. She curled herself closer into him to seek out the warmth she’d lost when Hvitserk had left. He only broke the silence once to inform her he insisted she stayed the night because he was not allowing her to walk home alone but was too lazy to get up and escort her himself. Her eyes drifted shut as she smiled, too tired to argue (not that she would have) and she let sleep overcome her.


	5. Chapter 5

After a short trek to the training grounds, they all settled in. Hvitserk had rolled a stump into the center of the clearing and Ubbe settled Ivar onto it, transporting him from the chair they’d all carried him on through the woods. Asta was stretching on a mostly dead patch of grass to loosen herself up and Hvitserk and Sigurd were setting out the weapons they’d brought along. Ubbe was quick to pick up a bow and arrow from between him and Ivar, loading it fluidly and bringing it up into a ready position. His eyes flicked to meet Ivar’s and with a smug smirk he released the arrow towards the deer head target without looking. The tip was soon buried deep into the center of the Stag’s forehead. The other three had been occupied with their own tasks, but the buzz of the arrow had drawn their attention towards the pair. Ivar wrenched the bow from his brothers hands and grabbed an arrow from the basket. He took his time arming it and aiming, but when he finally let it fly it landed mere inches to the left of Ubbe’s. A proud grin spread across Ubbe’s face as he crowded Ivar, one hand resting on the back of his neck, the other on his cheek. “Hmm? Ha!” Ubbe praised, shaking his brothers head approvingly in his hands, tapping their foreheads together in a gesture of respect. Having moved on, Hvitserk and Sigurd were now engaged in a duel. Hvitserk was armed with a long sword in his dominant hand and a short sword in his left while his brother donned two battle axes. Asta was busy knotting together the loose hair and day old braids at the base of her skull to ensure her vision would remain unobscured as she watched them. Hvitserk and Sigurd were both fiercely quick, and their hands were repeatedly snapping out to confront the others advances. At a stalemate, their weapons locked in a web between them, no one noticed as Ivar silently loaded an arrow and took aim.

The arrow sang through the small space between their faces, and they pushed off of each other to widen the gap, swiveling their heads in Ivar’s direction. Hvitserk’s face quickly broke out into an amused smirked as he chuckled and tossed aside his short sword before flipping his braid back behind his shoulder. His fingers danced over the handle in his grasp as he all but skipped over to Ivar, who had picked up the sword leaning against his stump, ready to engage in combat with his brother. As the two faced off, Sigurd watched on with a look of distaste. Ubbe sipped on a cup of ale he had poured himself. Asta slipped to stand in front of Sigurd, challenging him silently by extending her sword out between them, an axe in her other hand. He lightly knocked one of his own weapons against hers and they began to exchange jabs and moves, dodging and deflecting one another’s swings. The dual was for the most part evenly matched, and they both couldn’t help the smiles that spread across their face as they sparred.

The two often didn’t have much to talk about despite years of knowing each other, but they always seemed to find common ground while training. He was friendly enough to her but he had unpredictable outbursts similar to Ivar that left her bones weary. She liked them both but trusted neither as far as she could throw them. Sigurd often laced his words with animosity or not so subtle backhanded jabs, though she could not fault him. Sometimes she felt a twinge of guilt that she spent more time with his brothers than he did over the years, but it wasn’t as if she was the one who had isolated him from joining in on their fun. He had always timidly watched from afar growing up instead of participating and his brothers had stopped going out of their way to try and include him. With Aslaug’s attention directed all towards Ivar, he had spent a lot of time in his own company and mind. As they got older, he had come into himself more, growing confident as he found his own path. He would tag along in their training sessions or even their secret excisions to the waterfall sometimes, but he always seemed to have his guard up in one way or another. His slight eyes and keen ears missed almost nothing, and unleashed, his tongue spared none.

Asta saw an opening as Sigurd’s eyes traveled for a distracted moment towards his brothers, and she did not hesitate. She had learned over years of practicing with him that whoever was the first to let up for just a second was who would meet their loss. With an intricate twist of her arm and a perfectly timed snap of her wrist, she knocked one of Sigurd’s axes from his hand. Using her own, she hooked the edge around the handle of his remaining axe and pushed it away from their bodies. It caused him to unwillingly throw his armed hand to the side, leaving his torso exposed. Using the hand with the sword, Asta thrusted towards his heart until the tip was pressed into his tunic. “I win,” she beamed, lowering both her weapons as her soft laugh carried across the opening while Sigurd just grunted, turning his head to spit over his shoulder in detest.

Their attention was quickly taken by Hvitserk and Ivar, who were still locked in swordplay. Hvitserk skillfully deflected all of Ivar’s blows by keeping his hands tight to his torso, and Ivar was relentless with his strikes. What Hvitserk wasn’t accounting for, however, was Ivar to grab ahold of his wrist after he’d blocked the latest blow. Ivar used Hvitserk’s arm to twist him around into what would have been a decapitating choke hold had he not stopped Ivar’s blade with his own. Everyone seemed to hold their breath for a brief moment before Hvitserk maneuvered himself out of the position. He and Ivar ended with their blades laid flat against the others arm, the tip resting at the opposing brother’s throat. They held each other’s eyes as the world around them paused momentarily before they tapped their swords against one another’s shoulder in good humor. Hvitserk eyed Ivar up and down as if he was finally seeing him for the first time before he stalked away, bowing his head towards his youngest brother. The other three broke from the trance they’d been in, and Ubbe refilled his glass before offering it to Ivar.

Asta was still watching the only dark haired son of Ragnar with an observatory gaze when she saw something flash out of the corner of her vision. She barely had time to register what it was before the axe embedded into the cup Ivar had accepted from Ubbe. Asta spun on her heels towards a smug Sigurd, who crossed his arms over his chest as it swelled with satisfaction. The look was short lived as Ivar, quick as lightning, whipped his own axe at his guilty brother, who ducked in time to avoid catching it square in the forehead. Ivar was hunched over on the stump, glaring at Sigurd through his lashes. Sigurd straightened out and Asta could see that Ivar had nicked his brothers forehead, which was now oozing blood slowly down his face. A heavy silence encompassed them all and Asta fidgeted with the weapons in her hands. Hvitserk was exchanging his weight between the balls of his feet, and Asta knew he was ready to pounce into action if the situation escalated to a tipping point. Ubbe tutted as he shook his head back and forth, reaching for another mug. He filled it up with ale and offered it to Ivar again, who took as a satisfied smirk danced upon his lips. Sigurd growled under his breath before he stalked off into the trees without another word, leaving behind the axe he’d thrown.

“You just had to piss him off, hm?” Hvitserk broke the silence, rolling his shoulders a few times as he stretched his muscles out. “How are we supposed to get you back to town? You’re heavy for a cripple!” He teased, and the tension seeped from the training grounds. Ivar scoffed in reply but despite his effort to seem aloof, he was still smirking. Ubbe punched his youngest brother in the arm in good nature before picking an axe up off the ground.

“Hvitserk?” Ubbe pondered and the honey haired middle child prowled at him with a grin, sword in hand. Asta, careful to avoid the now fighting brothers, made her way over to Ivar who was sitting by the basket of arrows still. She switched out her hand to hand combat weapons for a bow. Ivar locked his gaze onto her and watched as she stretched the bowstring back and forth a few times, testing its pull before she began. From above his cup, his eyes stalked her every movement. She tried ignoring the pressure of his eyes, only fueled with intensity from the mini showdown with Sigurd. She knew she should be accustomed to it after his shameless open staring over the years, but she still found herself flooded with a nervous jitter. Asta loaded the bow and took aim at a stag, counting to three in her head before she shot. The arrow hit a little to the right of dead center. She reloaded and took another shot, this one landing slightly closer to the red circle on its forehead but still not within its line. She huffed softly under her breath and readied to try again. Just before she was about to let go of the string, Ivar’s voice broke her concentration.

“Your back foot. Turn it in more,” was all he mumbled into his cup and she glanced down at her back foot, repositioning it as he suggested. She finally let go and the arrow soared through the open air right into the red circle. As soon as she saw her success, she looked over her shoulder at Ivar, grinning. He shared his own small smirk a tipped his head slightly before averting his gaze to the others. She practiced her archery some more, mindful of her stance and continued to make mark after mark. The three brothers took turns sparring as she emptied the basket into the three targets. Satisfied with their afternoon of training, they began to slowly pack up their things. Ubbe helped Ivar settle into his chair as Asta collected the arrows and Hvitserk gathered the other weapons strewn about. They laid their supplies out onto the wooden planks that Ivar’s chair sat upon for easier travels. They decided that Hvitserk would take the front and Ubbe and Asta the back. The journey back was silent for the most part, their energy well spent.

“That slave girl, brothers. I need your help,” Ivar’s voice broke the peace.

“Hm, who?” Ubbe asked, and Asta readjusted her grip.

“That servant. You know who I’m talking about. The one Sigurd has staked claim to,” Ivar offered, and Ubbe and Asta shared a quick glance. Everyone knew that Sigurd had spoken of eventually freeing the girl with the purpose of wedding her. He had aired his intentions as a way of asking them to bring to light theirs, or back off, without directly saying so. “You have all had her. So, I want to have her, too.” Asta could see Ivar shrug from his spot in his chair, his eyes fixated somewhere off in the distance as he spoke aloud.

“That’s easy. She’s a slave. Just take her to your bed,” Hvitserk answered coolly from in front of them, a way of challenging Ivar to do what he thought impossible.

“You know we have stopped... visiting Margrethe. Sigurd intends to marry her,” Ubbe added carefully.

“Ah, yes. Of course he does. But, he has not. And as our good brother has pointed out, she is but a slave!” His voice carried a tone of glee that sent shivers straight through Asta’s core. Her nose crinkled as she kept quiet, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from blurting out of turn on such a touchy subject.

“Have you ever been with a woman?” Hvitserk questioned, and silence spanned between them.

Clearing her throat, Asta spoke up finally, “Ask her. See how she feels.” Ivar’s head spun around quickly at the suggestion. His eyes sought her, pinning her with a glare. He had forgotten about her presence; out of sight, out of mind.

“Oh, I know how she will feel,” Ivar sneered and Asta glanced down at the ground, away from him and those eyes.

“No, you do not. You are the Son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Just like us. Just like Sigurd,” Ubbe cut in, and Ivar hummed into his closed mouth before settling back in his chair, facing forward. Silence encompassed them once again as they neared the edge of town. Asta’s fingers were burning from her days work with the bow and the wooden handles were digging into her raw skin. Her feet caught in a dip on the forest floor and her grip around the wood tightened, causing her to whimper softly against her will as she quickly loosened her grasp. Upon hearing the sound, Ubbe sent her a questioning gaze and she offered back a small shrug. His eyebrow quipped up and she pursed her lips at his stubbornness.

“My fingers are sore, s’all,” she mumbled, looking straight ahead again. She heard Ivar snapping something under his breath about watching her stupid feet and her cheeks flushed as she made sure to walk with more caution.

When they made it back to town, Ivar excused himself to head to the blacksmith, slithering off. The other three ambled into the hall and helped themselves to some chicken and bread that was spread on the table, along with some ale. The hall was empty besides a few servants who were busy cleaning for the nights festivities and they settled into the corner of the room by the fire to stay out of the way. Hvitserk sat on a stool, balancing a plate with his third portion of helpings on one knee. Asta sat between his legs, using the base of his seat to lean her weight against as they waited for Ubbe to return. He’d retreated to his quarters after he finished eating to grab some salve for Asta’s fingers despite her insisting she was fine. She leaned her head against Hvitserk’s thigh and closed her eyes, listening to the crackling of the fire and the soft smacking of Hvitserk’s lips as he chewed his food. She was teetering on the depths of sleep when she heard a stool in the general direction of in front of her scrape against the floor. Peeling her eyes back open, she saw Ubbe uncorking a skinny dark green bottle. He tipped it over, dumping some of the oil onto the pads of his fingers. He beckoned her to extend her hand with his chin, and she raised it into the space between them from its previous place in her lap. He cradled her hand in one of his palms, and gently rubbed the oil into her raw flesh. A breath hissed through her teeth and Ubbe tried his hardest not to smile.

“For as tough as you act, you are just a big babe,” he commented, and she went to retract her hand from him with a displeased huff. He caught her by the arm and clicked his tongue against his mouth, and she allowed him to finish dressing the flesh wound. The sting faded once she was acquainted to the feeling. Hvitserk set his plate aside, chuckling in amusement. Asta peered over her shoulder and shot him a glare as well upon hearing the sound, and he quickly held his hands up in defense.

 _“I_ know you are not a babe,” he said, locking his knees around her on both sides and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, caging her into his body. He was careful to avoid jostling her arm too much as Ubbe finished knotting a strip of cloth around her hand. Satisfied with his handiwork, he gently patted the back of it.

“ _You_ insisted it be seen to, not me!” She defended herself, poking her free hand out at Ubbe’s chest from between the web of limbs Hvitserk had her tangled in. Hvitserk rested his chin upon her head and shot Ubbe a devilish smirk from above her. As if reading his mind, Ubbe tightened his grip on her hand again and grabbed onto her other wrist. Keeping her jailed to his body, Hvitserk lowered his hands to tickle at her sides lightly while Ubbe kept her arms in place. She thrashed around in their grip, trying to rip herself free as an airy laugh sang from her lips as well as pleas for them to stop. Her cheeks quickly flushed with color and despite her best efforts, she could not escape. Just when she thought her lungs would burst from her chest at the rush of trying to laugh while catching her breath, they both seized their assault. Their own laughs echoed around hers, and Hvitserk ducked his face into the crook of her neck, nosing against the hot skin before she shoved away from him. She crawled from the trap she had found herself in and quickly turned around to sit on her butt, sliding back on her hands and feet, shuffling until she felt her back connect with the wall of the hall.

“If I am a babe, then you are a couple of children!” She cried, grabbing protectively at her sides. She glared over at the brothers who had finally stopped laughing (the sight of her crawling away had prolonged their amusement) but were still smiling widely at her.

“And when did we claim otherwise?” Ubbe quipped back and she finally joined them in grinning. The seering burn in her cheeks and sides had almost completely subsided and she rested her head back against the wall, peering at them over her nose.

“I have to go to the stream and bathe before the tonight,” she stated, glancing down at how grimy her clothes were from the day of training.

“We will just have a servant draw a bath for you here,” Ubbe said, leaning back to stretch his hands over his head.

“It is not necessa-“ she started, but Hvitserk waved off her protest with a flick of his hand and cut her off.

“It does not matter.” She rolled her eyes and pushed herself up from the floor, slowly straightening out as her muscles protested.

“Fine. But I have to go grab a change of clothes from my trunk,” she countered, rolling her neck side to side a few times and sighing at the release of tension it provided.

“I will walk you,” Hvitserk replied, quickly rising from his stool before she could protest.

“I do not think she needs an escort down the path, brother,” Ubbe retorted, and Hvitserk just shot him a look before making his way to stand besides Asta. She stuck her tongue out at Ubbe who just rolled his eyes and also rose to his feet.

“I suppose I am left in charge of getting the bath drawn, hm?” He asked, arms sweeping out at his side in question, eyebrows to his hairline. It was Asta’s turn to roll her eyes then, and she walked the short space to stand in front of him.

“If you would be ever so kind,” she hummed, raising up on her tiptoes and pressing a light kiss to his cheek before falling back onto her heels. She did not wait for his reply because she knew from the upward curve of his lips he would have a bath drawn for her by the time they returned. Keeping her stride, she grabbed Hvitserk by the elbow as she passed him, tugging him to fall into step with her. As they exited the hall, they passed Aslaug who was sitting on the porch, having her hair started on for the Thing later that evening. Asta let go of Hvitserk’s arm and bowed her head in Aslaug’s direction, making her way towards the path that led to her home. Hvitserk chose to ignore his mother and instead slung his arm over Asta’s shoulder. She elbowed him in the ribs, turning to look between them at the Queen, who was watching their descent with a narrowed gaze.

“I do not know why you insist on using me to anger her,” Asta hissed, laying a palm on his hand and shoving it from her shoulder. Hvitserk shot her a smirk and she made to shove him again, but he swiftly intercepted her hand and gently tugged her back into his side, under the weight of his arm. Knowing they had slipped from Aslaug’s view, she allowed herself to lean into his hold this time, wrapping her own arm around his waist after only a moments hesitation.

“I do not use you to anger her. I simply do not care if my actions tend to her feelings,” he corrected her, and she pinched his side between her fingers.

“Well I do, where they concern me, for I do not need her loathing me anymore,” she countered. “And I hope you care to tend to my feelings,” she added in a curt voice, knowing she’d put him in a predicament with her words. He knitted his eyebrows together and looked down at her through a narrowed, sideways gaze. She glanced away from the heat of his gaze and found they’d made it outside her door. Asta chewed lightly on the inside of her cheek as she guilt seeped into her belly at the harsh words she’d fired at Hvitserk. She knew he cared about her. She loosened her arms from him and went to step towards the entrance when he curled the arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer to him as he lowered his lips to her ear.

“Of course I do, Elskan.” With that he let his hand fall from her shoulders to the small of her back, gently pushing her towards the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elskan — my love/my darling 
> 
> Soo, Margrethe will be in the story but her role is definitely minimized compared to the series and she will have a different plot/character path than the show.
> 
> Also, let me know what you think about the length of the chapters— too long, too short, just enough? 
> 
> Next chapter will have some soft Ubbe fluff to look forward to!


	6. Chapter 6

She’d quickly gathered her things for the evening as Hvitserk waited outside. They had walked back towards the hall in silence, unable to hold a conversation with the noise flooding the streets around them as everyone prepared for that night. This time Hvitserk kept his hands to himself. Asta was grateful as the building came into view and she saw Aslaug still perched on the porch. Hvitserk announced he had an errand to tend to before the evening as they neared the porch. He grazed her arm with the back of his hand as he brushed by her, shooting her a grin over his shoulder before he disappeared into the crowd. She couldn’t help but smile at his antics and she pushed her way back into the hall with her things in tow. Heading to the hall where their private quarters resided, she rapt softly on the outside of Ubbe and Hvitserk’s shared door. 

“Come in,” Ubbe’s voice carried through the cracks and she let herself in. Shutting the door behind her, she relished the muted quiet that the walls provided. He was crouched next to the tub, the tips of his fingers skimming the top of the water. His eyes found hers and he bared a smile, straightening out to his full height. “Water’s perfect,” he commented, walking over to his bed and sitting down on the edge facing the wall, his back towards the tub. He leaned his weight back onto his hands, and his eyes locked onto the corner where the walls met one another. She knew it was the gentleman in him and she stifled the laugh that bubbled in her throat as she set aside her new clothes and began to undress. He had seen her naked before over the years, whether it be skinny dipping under the stars, enjoying the hot springs in the dead of winter, washing each others backs in the tub or countless other reasonings. She found his good-natured charm endearing and she stepped into the tub, lowering herself chin deep. A sigh escaped her lips as the warm water covered her aching arms, causing the muscles to sing in relief. 

“‘M in,” she murmured and he peeked over his shoulder as if he was checking to make sure before his feet brought him over to the side of the wooden tub. He sat with his back against it, leaning his head on the edge. Asta settled in, deciding to treasure the bliss the bath was providing before washing. 

“Are you joining us for dinner?” he asked, craning his neck to meet her eyes in question. She brought her hand from the water and gently tapped his brow before letting it fall back under the liquid surrounding her. She watched the bead of water trickle down his cheek, leaving a streak on his dirtied skin. 

“If you think your mother will not mind. It is an important night, after all,” she answered, sitting up and pulling her knees into her chest. She pulled her hair around to rest over her shoulder then grabbed the wax from the edge, holding it out to him with an innocent smile. He took the bar from her hand and repositioned himself behind her on his knees. Ubbe submerge the bar under the water, rubbing it between his fingers to soften it up. Then, he began running the bar over her back gently, using his other hand to rub the residue into her skin for a thorough clean. 

“I am sure she is expecting it,” he replied confidently, ghosting his fingers over her ribs lightly. It sent a shiver down her spine and gooseflesh raised across the skin of her arms where they peaked out of the water, wrapped around her knees still. He set the bar aside and began to scoop water between his palms, running it down her back to rinse her off. 

“Then I will come,” she twisted to look over her shoulder at him, smiling. He grabbed ahold of her shoulder and gently nudged it, signaling her to turn. 

“Then the matter is settled.” She unwrapped her arm and turned slightly so he was facing her profile instead of her back. She extended the arm out towards him and he scraped the soap against the length of it. His long fingers began to massage against her skin, the ache in her muscles dulling slowly. Asta leaned her forehead forward against her other arm, allowing her eyes to slip shut. His fingers pressed into the inside of her elbow, his thumbs making small persistent circles. She had almost fallen asleep when she heard him chuckling and she mustered up the energy to open her eyes and tilt her head to peer up at him. His eyes were sparkling as he looked down at her, face cracked with a grin. He eased her arm into the slowly cooling water and wrapped his hand around her bicep, dragging it the whole of her arm to rinse the suds off. 

“Next arm, princess,” he joked, and she couldn’t help the grin that matched his own. She spun her body around in the water and repositioned herself the same way as before except facing the opposite direction. She held her other arm out towards him as she settled her temple onto her clean forearm. Keeping her eyes open this time, she watched his face tweak with concentration as his eyes focused on his own hands that were removing the last of the dirt from her limb. She could see the edge of his tongue poking against the inside of his cheek, pushing it out as he finished his work. She watched the satisfaction settle into his features as he lowered her arm to the water, and his eyes glanced up to connect with hers. They stayed like that for a spell, Ubbe’s hand frozen on her arm and her breath caught in her throat as her mind was absorbed with him and his face and his hands and his gentle thoughtfulness. But eventually he sat back onto his heels, his fingers leaving her skin to find the soap again, holding it out in the space between them. She swallowed hard and grabbed it from him, her fingers burning where they brushed against his in the exchange. The air enveloping them was heavy and Asta felt a buzz between them that was unmatched by any fleeting moments prior. They’d washed each other many times before and her stomach had never twisted as it did now. Chalking it up to the tension of her departure, she flicked some water at him with the tips of her fingers. 

“Grab me a fur,” she more commanded than asked and it caused his eyebrows to shoot to his hairline before he stood to do exactly that. She made quick work of washing her legs beneath the water, focusing mostly on her feet. Ubbe had rummaged for a fur through his chest before coming back to her side and holding it out. She took it from him and his eyes lingered on her huddled shape before he turned and went by the fire. He crouched down and busied himself tending to the dying coals as she stood up, wrapping the fur around her form. Asta stepped out of the tub, careful not to slip, and proceeded to twist and tuck the fur under her arms to cover herself but still allow movement. She wrung her hair out over the barrel and flipped it over her shoulder to dry. 

“Your turn,” she pulled his attention from the fire to her, and gestured towards the water. He grinned and ambled over, removing his shirt in the process. Whatever privacy he felt obligated to afford her, he did not share for himself. He made quick work of stripping down to his bare skin and launched himself into the tub, water sloshing over the sides and spilling onto the floor. Asta had busied herself in locating a rag amongst the brothers things and shook her head, laughing as she returned. She fell to her knees in front of him and dunked an edge into the water to wet it. Asta brought the cloth to his face and began to gently rub at the grime that had built up, his pale skin tinted with red from the scrape of the fabric. Her free hand cupped his jaw, angling his head this way and that until she was content with the results. 

“I forgot how handsome you are under all that dirt,” she teased and gently tapped him on the nose, grinning wide. He rolled his eyes and flicked some water at her before spinning around to expose his back, trying to hide his growing grin. 

“As if you could ever forget,” he countered, and she smacked him on the back with the damp rag before she continued her task, this time washing over his back. His muscles ticked under her fingers and her free hand spread across the expanse of his shoulder, gently kneading against his toned form. As she was finishing his back, the door to the room flew open and Hvitserk barged in, a few parcels tucked under his arm. Their gazes both flew to the door, freezing until they registered who it was. Asta finished up washing Ubbe’s back as Hvitserk cocked an eyebrow at them, tipping his head in greeting before putting away his things. 

Asta gently patted Ubbe on the shoulder, giving a squeeze before she straightened out. He gave her soft smile and picked the soap up to start washing the rest of himself. Hvitserk had settled on the edge of his bed to wait for his turn to wash and Asta retrieved her clothes from off the chest where she’d set them. Ubbe was busy rinsing off and paid her no mind, but Hvitserk’s stare was glued to her every moment. She raised an eyebrow at his open greediness, eyes raking over the length of her legs, the span of her neck, until they finally met hers. He gave her an unapologetic smirk, leaning back onto his hands as he appraised her. Shaking her head, she turned around and offered her back to him as she unwrapped the fur, letting it pool on the ground at her feet. She stepped into her new dress and shimmied the fabric over her hips. Pulling it up over her chest, she slipped both her arms through the holes and smoothed it under her hands down the front. She glanced over her shoulder and immediately met Hvitserk’s hunger glazed eyes. 

“Do you mind...” she trailed off, and he was on his feet in seconds, covering the space between them as if it was never there in the first place. Carefully, he gathered all of her hair and laid it to rest over her shoulder, out of his way. The backs of his fingers grazed against her skin, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched. He took his sweet time doing up the buttons and by the time he had finished, Ubbe was out of the tub and drying himself off. Hvitserk’s fingers lingered at the nape of her neck, tracing the line of it down to her shoulder with the mere tips of his fingers, barely touching her. Her body was flooded with heat and her stomach felt like it housed all the birds in the world. She felt him shift closer, her body hyperaware of every movement he made, and his breath hit the shell of her ear, floating against her neck and her cheek. 

“Let us see,” he murmured lowly, his lips tickling against her skin he was so close. She looked over her shoulder and noticed that Ubbe had finished dressing himself and was watching the pair with his own intent eyes. She bobbed her head at the command and slowly turned around, showing off the red dress that neither of them had seen her in before. Hvitserk stepped back only enough to allow Ubbe a clear view, and she twisted her fingers into the loose fabric around her thighs, glancing down at herself. The dress was one of the brightest red’s she had ever seen captured on cloth, and it hugged through her bust and waist, loosening at the hips. The hem of the dress hovered just above the floor, and the bust was corseted with silver hoops. There was an intricate pattern embroidered into the skirt, one with flowers, leaves and vines in a red that was just slightly deeper than the rest. The long sleeves flared at the bottom, the top of the sleeve longer than the bottom, tapering to a point over her fingers. It hung off her shoulders delicately, as if it may slip at any moment, the expanse of her collarbone on full display. Her eyebrows arched up, eyes fleeting between them and she wetted her lips before speaking.

“Well?” She huffed, face flushing as her hands settled on her hips. 

“You look...,” Hvitserk started, and he hung his head, shaking it side to side slowly as he pondered how to put it into words. 

“Like Freyja herself,” Ubbe finished for him, and that was enough for Asta. She beamed at them before locating her cloak and wrapping it around herself. They both gave her a confused look and she pulled the hood over her head, rushing to Ubbe to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“I forgot something. A surprise,” she informed them as she made her way to Hvitserk, planting a kiss on his cheek as well. As she was turning away, his hand wrapped around her bicep. She glanced over her shoulder and was faced with the saddest pouty lips and the biggest puppy-dog eyes. 

“You will not help me bathe now?” He mocked hurt, nuzzling his nose against her jawline. “Not fair,” he said with a sing-song tone. Smiling, she pulled back far enough to place another quick peck onto the bridge of his nose before she made her way to the door and out of his grasp. 

“I owe you one!” She called out as she disappeared behind the doorframe and into the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up soon because I got carried away and this chapter was originally 4K words so I split it into two!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly short because it’s the second half of the last chapter!

Hellevi had come through for Asta once again, twisting and knotting her hair elegantly. The left side was plaited tight to her scalp around to the back of her head, where Hellevi had knotted and tucked it under the rest of her hair. She had incorporated white ribbons into the braid, weaving it seamlessly into her locks. The right side hung loose, with tiny braids scattered throughout the tendrils. Asta had kissed her friend on the cheek with promises of catching up later that evening and quickly hurried back to the hall after a stop at home. She retreated back to the boy’s room, where they were both sitting on their beds, dressed for the evening. Shutting the door behind her, she untied her cloak and folded it up, leaving it on the corner of Hvitserk’s bed. She plopped herself down next to him, bumping their shoulders together as her eyes flew to Ubbe’s, a grin plastered on her face. 

“Guess what I brought,” she sang, kicking her feet back and forth. 

“Hmm?” He mumbled, cocking his head to the side. 

“Mushrooms!” She exclaimed, undoing the satchel from her waist swiftly and tossing it to him. A grin mirroring her own broke out across both of their faces, and Hvitserk held his hands out as Ubbe tossed him the bag after taking a peek inside. Hvitserk opened it up and pulled out a shroom, quickly popping it into his mouth. 

“Hey! Not until after dinner,” she scolded, snatching the satchel back from him and tucking it into her cloak. “Speaking of, we should probably go, hm?” 

“Probably,” Ubbe agreed and pushed himself up. Asta followed suit, feet hitting the floor. She reached out and grabbed ahold of Hvitserk’s hands, pulling him to his feet as he made no effort to move. The three exited the room and went to the main area of the Hall, where a small feast had been laid out for them to enjoy. Aslaug was already seated at the table with Ivar, but Sigurd was no where to be seen yet. Ivar sat at the head of the table, Aslaug to his left. But what had caused the stutter in her steps was the slave girl, Margrethe, sitting on a short stool beside Ivar. She was feeding him grapes, and the three of them hesitantly made their way to the table. Ubbe boldly took the seat besides Ivar and Asta was grateful as she settled in between him and Hvitserk. A servant quickly filled their cups with ale. Sigurd entered the room finally and his eyes snapped to the sight at the end of the table. He slowly made his way over, eyeing his younger brother with distaste. He settled in across from Asta, raising his cup over his shoulder. As soon as it was filled he chugged half of it down before slamming it on the table. Everyone began to help themselves to the food around them as Sigurd continued to stare between his lover and his brother. A sharp laugh left his lips and Ivar cocked his eyebrow at him. 

“What are you laughing at? Hmm?” He tilted his head towards Margrethe, parting his lip expectantly until she placed another grape into his mouth. “She is my special servant now,” he gloated as he chewed the grape, a gleam to his otherwise intense blue eyes. “And she has a lot of reasons to be grateful to me,” he added, trailing the back of his fingers along the girls jawline. Margrethe flinched slightly before they made contact and then Asta saw the thin angry red line around the poor girls throat. Her heart seized in her chest as it flooded with sympathy for the servant, and her eyes quickly averted to Sigurd to gauge his reactions. 

“I am not sure I believe you, little brother,” Ubbe commented thoughtfully between mouthfuls of food. 

“And I am sure you are jealous,” Ivar insinuated, turning to Margrethe and folding her hand under his. Ubbe shifted in his seat and shot Hvitserk a glance around Asta, who was still watching Sigurd. The blonde was gripping his ale so tightly his knuckles were turning white. He’d had at least three cups already that she’d counted. 

“You cannot keep a slave to yourself. No, not like that,” Hvitserk added in, trying to help Ubbe soothe the situation to the best of his ability. 

Ivar scoffed and turned to Aslaug with a pouty expression. “Mother, tell them to stop tormenting me!” 

“It makes me so happy you are with a woman,” the Queen replied dryly before taking another sip of her wine. “The rest of you should already be married,” she continued, gesturing with her chalice between the others at the table. “Ubbe, you should have children!” 

“I probably already have,” he joked, grateful for a chance to lighten the mood. Hvitserk, Ivar and Asta laughed at the comment, though Asta produced more of a nervous giggle. Sigurd and Aslaug did not find his comment humorous. 

“Just because you are the sons of a king does not mean you can be irresponsible,” she chastised them and allowed her eyes to shift to Asta momentarily as she added, “Nor you. It is a pity your father pays the situation no mind.” She went back to addressing her sons as she continued, and Asta gritted her teeth to bite back her reply. “It’s important to find a woman to settle down.” 

“I thought I had found a woman,” Sigurd interjected cooly, staring straight at Margrethe who was occupying herself with her apron, head down. “But now Ivar has taken her away from me.” 

Ivar tipped his head to his brother and raised his glass, “Skol!” Sigurd scoffed and rolled his eyes, guzzling back another swig. 

“I do not mean love,” Aslaug persisted. “You do not have to love the woman. As a king’s son, you can have as many women as you like-“ She was cut off by Ubbe and Hvitserk cheering and they clanked their glasses together over Asta’s head, chuckling to themselves. “But you need one to breed with.” Asta shifted around in her seat, sipping on her ale. She felt like she was intruding yet again and was considering why she constantly took them up on their offers to join them for supper. She scowled slightly at the thought, she knew  why : it was that or dine alone. But, at times like these she longed for the peace the lonely meals provided. 

“So then you don’t believe in love?” Sighted pushed, raising his eyebrows at her as he finished another cup of ale. 

“I didn’t say that,” she defended quickly, shooting him a scowl. 

“So you loved Ragnar when you married him?” he questioned her, pinning her with his gaze. “And he loved you?”

“Of course I loved him!” She exclaimed with frustration, wiping at her mouth with her napkin. 

“Some say that you bewitched him,” Sigurd taunted and everyone at the table froze, except for Ivar. 

“What is wrong with you?” Ivar seethed, resting his elbows onto the table as he leaned forward, closer towards Sigurd. 

“Nothing’s wrong with me. I just wanted to know if she has ever loved anyone except Harbard,” Sigurd shrugged, facing forward again.  “You remember Harbard,” he directed this statement towards the three across from him, but his eyes settled on Asta as he continued “Don’t _you_?”  Asta bite the inside of her cheek as she glowered at him for dragging her into this. Hvitserk sought out her hand under the table and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. 

“ Of course she has loved someone else. She has always loved me,” Ivar answered in a smug manner. “Isn’t that right, mother?” Ivar nodded towards the woman and she gave him a soft smile before sipping her wine again, eyes distant. 

“She feels pity for you. That is all. We all feel pity for you. But sometimes we wish that she had left you to the wolves,” he kept his tone level, as if he was talking about something as casual as the weather. He finished off another cup of ale as Ivar sneered, pushing himself to his feet, the table bracing most of his weight. 

“Sigurd!” Aslaug screeched, shooting him a horrified look. 

“What?” He shrugged, a smug smirk settling across his features knowing he had successfully set Ivar off. 

“Ivar... it is alright,” Aslaug gently touched his shoulder to try and console him, but he continued to make his way down the table, shrugging her off. 

“Are you coming over here?” Sigurd taunted, rising to his feet as well. Ivar made it to the chair he had just been seated in and used it to pull himself closer to his brother. Sigurd yanked the chair, causing him to stumble and latch onto the table again. Trying once more to get to his brother, Ivar extended towards the chair. 

“Go on, little Ivar. What are you going to do?” Sigurd cackled as he pulled the chair from under Ivar a final time. The dark haired brother fell face first into the floor, a groan of pain escaping his lips. Asta’s hand flew to cover her mouth as she let out a soft gasp of shock, and Aslaug ran to Ivar’s side to aid him. Upon seeing his mother rush to his brother, Sigurd stormed out of the hall. Ivar let out a scream as he crawled across the floor at a rapid pace, but he was no match for Sigurd’s long strides which had carried him off into the rush of the crowd. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a little shorter than normal but longer than the last chapter. I got carried away once again and had to split it into two. Next chapter should be up shortly— either later today or tomorrow! I just have to finish proof reading and editing. Sorry for dragging this out for so many chapters but they will be leaving soon and I just want to include as much Ubbe as I can in the beginning!!! Enjoy! :)

Shortly after Sigurd had stormed off, a scout had come to the hall to inform them that the boats of the guests were arriving. Aslaug directed to servants to clean up the mess of dinner and set out the barrels of ale for the celebrations. While she finished supervising the cleanup, Asta, Ubbe and Hvitserk left for the docks. A crowd had already began to form and Asta grabbed ahold of Hvitserk’s hand.

“Hold onto Ubbe!” She shouted above the noise of the people gathered. She began to snake her way through the crowd, the brothers trailing behind her, connected by their hands. They broke through the frontline of onlookers and Asta stumbled slightly without the resistance. Hvitserk gently yanked on their connect limbs, helping her to regain her balance instead of falling further forward. She shot him a thankful grin and he returned it in kind. The three let go of one another and shuffled closer to Bjorn, who was waiting about halfway up the runway of the dock. They kept a short distance behind him, hovering, as they watched the boats dock. Seeing the ships anchored to the port, Asta found herself bouncing back and forth on her heels, riddled with excitement to meet those they would be traveling with. Bjorn caught sight of them and nodded his head towards them in a brief greeting before he intercepted King Harald and Halfdan. 

“King Harald. Halfdan,” Bjorn extended his arm to each of them in turn, and they latched onto each other’s forearms in a warriors greeting. 

“Bjorn Ironside. It’s been a long time,” the King replied in greeting. 

The three began to make their way to the hall as they exchanged words, and Ubbe, Asta and Hvitserk trailed behind. Asta caught the King sparing too many glances in her direction along the way, and a soft scowl set into her features. Hvitserk noticed the tension in her body and as their hands brushed against one another’s while they walked, he caught her pinky in his own. The corners of his mouth turned up as she glanced in his direction, but his eyes remained forward; passive. She gave his pinky a squeeze and only let it untwist from her own once they reached the now wide open doors of the hall. People had already crowded inside, and they all squished closer together as more bodies joined. They were separated from Bjorn and the brothers as they pressed in and they went to fetch themselves a horn of ale. They found Ivar and Sigurd sitting in a corner, their shared suspicion of all the foreigners allowing a brief truce between the pair. The three had just taken their seats when Bjorn came back over with Harald and Halfdan still in tow. 

“Come, meet my brothers,” Bjorn’s booming voice carried his words loud enough for them to hear and they all quickly stood up besides Ivar. “Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd and Ivar. And this is Asta,” he pointed in the direction of each of them as he rattled off their names. 

“I remember you. I remember all of you! But how you have all grown tall. You are not boys anymore!” The three eldest brothers stepped forward, greeting the King and Halfdan in the same manner Bjorn had at the docks.

“I am so much taller when I stand up,” Ivar interjected with a raised mug as his way of a greeting, causing everyone to laugh. 

“I am sure you wish you could come with us,” Halfdan offered, ducking his head. 

“Go to Hel,” Ivar replied quickly with a smirk and everyone laughed once again. 

“I like him,” King Harald chuckled. When it was Asta’s turn to greet them, she also exchanged the warriors handshake with Halfdan. When Harald reached for her, however, he grabbed ahold of her hand delicately and brought it to his lips, placing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. 

“My, you are quite grown up now as well,” Harald commented, eyes raking over her body in a way that caused her spine to straighten out. Easing her hand from his grip, she offered him a tight smile and a bow of her head. 

“As have you, King Harald,” she carefully replied, and she felt the pinch Bjorn delivered to the back of her arm. “I’ve heard of your recent conquers. Rogaland... King Arnarson and King Svein,” she added, but the King just chuckled in reply, a hand coming to rest at the loop around his waist that held his weapons. A weird sound caught the attention of them all and they searched for the source. Manifesting seemingly out of thin air, Floki appeared over Halfdan’s shoulder and pulled him into an excited hug. 

“Floki!” Both the brothers exclaimed and Floki moved to embrace the King next. 

“Harald! Good to see you!”

“So good to see you,” Harald concluded as they pulled apart.

“Come, come see Helga!” Floki shouted excitedly, ushering them away. 

“What a brute,” Asta huffed under her breath as she found her way back to her seat. Ubbe was the only one who heard her and he chuckled. She sipped on her ale as her eyes floated around the room. She saw that Lagertha had arrived and next, her eyes sought out Aslaug. Asta found she had snuck into the seat besides Ivar at the other end of the table, unaware for the time being. 

“He has been a King without a Queen for sometime now,” Ubbe hummed, taking a sip of his ale and drawing her attention to him. Asta narrowed her eyes at him and clicked her tongue, scoffing. 

“And?” She snapped, and he laughed again. She knew what he was insinuating. Just like she knew was just trying to poke at a sore bruise, but it had worked. Her temper was always quick to jump to her defense without a shred of effort. 

“And Queen Asta has quite the ring to it, does it not?” He said boldly with a raised eyebrow. Asta punched him in the shoulder and Hvitserk laughed, having witnessed the encounter. He reached over and tugged on one of the many braids scattered through her hair. 

“I think Princess Asta is much more fitting,” Hvitserk countered and sent her a wink, twirling the braid around his finger now. She swatted his hand away and tipped back the rest of her ale, pushing herself to her feet. 

“And I think you can both shove it!” she quipped and wandered off from them to fill her cup, their laughs fading behind her. She waited her turn to refill at one of the many barrels and promptly took a swig once it was full. As she was slowly making her way back to the boys, a tall figure cut off her direct path. She sidestepped to avoid running into them, but they shuffled in her way once again. Her eyes darted from the broad chest she was face to face with to a pair of dark brown eyes framed by a mass of thick, dark black hair. The man was grinning down at her and she realized he had intentionally moved into her way. She raised an eyebrow at him in silent question and he held out a hand between them. 

“Earl Gorm,” he introduced himself and she placed her hand softly into his. He pressed a quick kiss to the backs of her knuckles, but it didn’t bother her the same way it had with Harald. Perhaps it was his easy smile and the fact that he was at least 15 years younger than the King. And handsome, at that. 

“Asta Makaosdottir,” she introduced herself back, offering a small bow to the Earl. The corners of his mouth stayed twisted upwards. 

“Perhaps I could bother you for a small moment of your time?” He questioned her and she found herself nodding along to his request. He gestured to the side of the room, where it was less crowded, and she lead the way. 

“I assume from your timing you are here for the voyage? Will you be joining us to the Mediterranean, Earl Gorm?” She pondered as she turned around and they came to a stop by one of the pillars near the wall. It was his turn to raise his eyebrow. 

“I am indeed. You will be sailing to the Mediterranean?” His voice was filled with amusement and her eyes narrowed at him over the rim of her horn as she took a sip. 

“I am indeed,” she curtly replied, echoing his words before noting, “That seems to come as a surprise to you.” 

“Excuse my behavior,” he shook his head as he spoke. “You just seem too fair a beauty to see the brutalities of the battlefield,” he recovered, offering an apologetic smile. She snorted lightly and took another drink. 

“I suppose that is my secret weapon then, no?” An amused sparkle had settled in her eyes, as well as a warm flush to her cheeks from all the ale that evening. 

“Our foe will surely cower when faced with a Valkyrie such as yourself,” his kind words only deepened the flush on her cheeks and she shook her head slightly. 

“You do flatter me, Earl Gorm,” she replied, the corners of her booze softened lips curling up.

“I must say it both entices and thrills me we will be accompanying one another in the journey. I look forward to the prospect of seeing more of you,” he mused, his eyes alight with the thought. She met his gaze with silence for a spell before speaking up. 

“My friends are waiting for me. I should return before my cup is dry. Until next time, Earl Gorm,” she said softly, glancing into her half empty glass. Her eyes found his again and she offered an easy grin as she made to slip past him. He gently grabbed onto her elbow as she did so, causing her to pause. 

“Until our paths cross again, Asta,” he concluded confidently, bowing his head slightly as he let her go. She took her leave and weaved her way through the crowd. She quickly ducked into the corridor that led to the families private quarters to retrieve the mushrooms from her cloak. Once she had them in her possession, she found Hvitserk and Ubbe where she had left them. Sigurd and Ivar were no longer there and she squeezed her way between them on the bench they shared. 

“Who was that?” Hvitserk asked before her butt even touched the wood. She glanced at him as she held out her hands to Ubbe, who took a few of the mushrooms. 

“His name is Earl Gorm. He will be joining us to the Mediterranean,” she offered the mushrooms to Hvitserk now, who grabbed half of what remained. He grunted before he shoved them all into his mouth, and Asta scrunched up her nose as she began to chew them one by one. They weren’t pleasant tasting per say, but she could not bring herself to choke them all down at once. She swallowed down each stem with a gulp of ale and soon all three had polished off their share. 

“A quick round of hnefatafl?” Ubbe asked them both, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over them. He leaned forward on the seat to glance between his brother and Asta. Hvitserk groaned, rotating his body to face towards them as he kicked a leg over the bench. He tipped forward, resting his temple on Asta’s shoulder. 

“It is a celebration, brother. Is there nothing else you can think of to do?” He whined, and Asta laughed as she gently tapped her head against his. He had never had the patience for board games, always opting for activities that required physical exertion. 

“We could dance,” Asta proposed instead. Hvitserk lifted his head from her shoulder with a lopsided grin, glancing to Ubbe. Ubbe had never liked dancing, he was always stiff and red in the face when they coaxed him along. The eldest glanced between the two of them, running a quick hand over his beard. The pair gave him the biggest eyes and best pouty lips they could muster— he could never say no to them when they  _ both _ wanted something. 

“We shall dance,” he said begrudgingly, and Asta beamed as Hvitserk assisted her in dragging him to the front of the hall. There were a few people twirling around to the tune that flowed from a nearby lute. The three of them fell into an awkward step as they all gripped onto to each other, swaying and spinning as their laughs filled the air. Hvitserk’s goofy aura helped ease his nerves as they frolicked about, and Ubbe began to relax as time slowly passed and the mushrooms began to set in, mingling with the ale in their blood. Asta was unsure where one of them started and the other began— they were just a mass with an endless amount of limbs at this point. They clung onto each other for balance as Hvitserk led, jerking them about and around in circles. As Hvitserk accidentally elbowed her in the rib and Ubbe gently received her into his side from the shock of the blow without missing a step, she knew she wouldn’t have it any other way. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part of the last chapter! It was a quick proof read but I wanted to upload on the same day. If you see any errors or mistakes that need to be edited, please leave a comment! Next chapter they’ll finally set off. Hope you like it!!

The crowd had begun to filter outside for the Thing and they fell into the flow. Asta held onto both of their arms, giddy with excitement. The Thing was being held to ask the Gods to bless the warriors and their travels. Asta could feel the air thick with their presence; alive and electric as it flowed with energy around them. They made their way to the front row of the crowd and Asta reluctantly let go of her friend’s arms. The large bonfire behind the alter cast shadows across the whole crowd, and Asta’s hands floated in front of her waist, splayed out to absorb the warmth it radiated. The dancing flames mesmerized her; she watched as they licked up towards the sky, the smoke billowing around them, carried by the night breeze. Ubbe nudged her to pull her from her daze and the crowd parted to make way for the villagers steering the sacrificial animals to the alter. There were war drums beating in the background, and some people had started singing and humming, forming a melody that filled the air. Asta noted that Harald and Halfdan were standing on the other side of the clearing and she quickly averted her gaze as it caught the Kings.

Aslaug came trailing after the animals, shadowed by a Pagan priest. They ascended the stairs of the raised platform holding the alter. Aslaug was stunning in stark white head to toe sans her face, which was painted completely black. The priest wore a black hooded robe and his face was also painted, though his was white. She had white rope braided into her hair like a hood, and her sharp eyes were the only splash of color her form provided. The priest took his place by the alter and began to chant, blessing the sacrifice as the villagers strapped the goat down. Aslaug approached the animal and briefly glanced around the crowd before she too began to chant in their Native tongue, asking the Gods to bless them. She promptly sliced the goats throat as she finished announcing their offerings in Odin and his children’s names. Some of the red hot liquid splattered over her bright gown, providing a stark contrast to the white. The thick blood poured out into the bowl that had been strategically placed below to catch most of the drip. Some of the blood splashed over the sides and spilled on the floor of the alter, seeping over the edge and soaking the earth. 

Asta was holding her breath. Her body was burning from the inside out with heat, the feeling of power coursing through her veins. She watched in awe as Aslaug sacrificed two more goats, filling bowl after bowl with the red liquid that seeped from their wounds. Once she had completed the ritual, she descended the stairs and began her walk back through the crowd, towards the hall. She looked like a Goddess herself, drenched in the artful spurts of blood from the sacrifices. She flicked blood from a small chalice she carried at those gathered, making sure to hit her sons and Asta along the way. Only when she was out of sight did the crowd begin to pass around the remaining containers full of the reapings of the Thing. 

A servant walked up and held a bowl out for the princes, and Hvitserk dipped two of his fingers into the warm blood. He turned to Asta and gently tipped her jaw with his clean hand, outlining it with his bloody fingertips. She shut her eyes as she absorbed the sensation, whether it be the Gods or the mushrooms or the ale (or perhaps them  _all_ ) , she felt more alive and aware of  everything  than she ever had before. Hvitserk’s calloused fingers slowly trailed from above her brow, over her eye and down to her cheekbone before he repeated the process on the other side. His touch left a trail of fire on her skin, and he gently ghosted his thumb over her bottom lip, leaving a dusting of red splattered on her mouth. She opened her eyes slowly and they instantly connected with his, his pupils blown wide as he reluctantly lowered his hand from where it rested on her jaw. 

Dipping her own fingers into the blood, Asta carefully traced a line from his jaw, just by his ear, up to his cheekbone. She dragged the line across the bridge of his nose and his intense eyes never left her face as she focused on guiding her hand. She mirrored the design on the other side before adding two lines that went up and down in the middle of his forehead, as well as a mark on the center of his chin. She let her fingers linger on his skin, soaking up the electric buzz the contact sent through her like lightning bolts. Her eyes shifted to Ubbe and she offered him a smile as she turned to face him, resoaking her fingers. The servant dismissed herself and scurried off as Asta raised her hand to Ubbe’s face. His fingers gently wrapped around her elbow and he ducked his head slightly to make sure she met his gaze. She swallowed hard as she began to trace outwards across his cheeks, before she cut the lines down. Her fingers passed over his jaw and trailed the red liquid down his neck slightly. She retracted her hand but he kept his hold on her elbow, and his eyes fleeted to Hvitserk quickly. 

“Let’s head back to the hall, hm?” Ubbe murmured and Asta found herself nodding along with what he way saying. Ubbe led the way, his grip still locked on Asta, leaving a hot handprint imprinted against her humming skin. Hvitserk’s own hand had found its way to her lower back and he told himself it was to help steer her in the right direction. She felt her back arch slightly at the touch, her nerves exploding and sending another pang through her core. As they made their way back into the hall, Asta’s eyes settled on a familiar head of hair. 

“Hellevi!” She squealed, rushing at the woman with open arms. Her friend received her into her own limbs and they twirled around, sharing a joyous laugh. “Aren’t you just so excited?” Asta gushed, running her fingers across her friends face. Hellevi laughed, gently capturing her hands in her own grasp. 

“That I am. And I can see that you are as well,” she joked, wrapping an arm around the slightly shorter girls shoulders. Asta placed her own arm around Hellevi’s waist, and they made their way towards the barrels of ale. Hvitserk and Ubbe slowly inched closer from where they lingered behind her, each wearing their own signature smiles. 

“Hello, Hellevi,” Ubbe greeted with a nod of his head, and Hvitserk sent her a wink. 

“Hello, boys,” she replied and let go of Asta. She filled a horn for each of them and passed them out. “I was just about to retire for the evening. All the preparations have left me spent. Are the both of you packed already?” Hellevi inquired as she took a sip. 

“Of course I am packed,” Asta said at the same time as Hvitserk said, “A problem for the morning.” Hellevi laughed at their replies and raised her hand containing the mug. 

“Skol!” The small group clanked their horns and took long swigs. “I must stop at the market for some ginger before we depart. I should head off the bed now. I will see you when the sun rises,” Hellevi said as her way of a goodbye and with one last brief hug shared between her and Asta, she left the hall. The crowd had begun to thin slightly and Asta quickly topped off the liquid heaven from barrel. Hvitserk chuckled, snatching the horn from her grasp. She whined as she reached out for it, but Ubbe caught her around the waist before she could steal it back, pulling her back into his chest. Her hands fell to rest on his forearms to help catch her footing as she swayed, her feet lifting from the ground slightly. 

“You will stay with us tonight, right?” He whispered pleadingly in her ear from behind her and she glanced over her shoulder at him, ale forgotten. Their faces were inches apart now and she nodded her head sharply, her eyes fixated on his jaw. 

“Course,” she replied softly and he gently squeezed her in his hold, letting her go from his grip. Before Hvitserk could put up his guard again, Asta stole the horn back from him with a smug face. She ran off away from them towards the back of the hall and their rooms. Her ale sloshed around, some flying out of the horn completely. The brothers shared a quick look before they took off at a sprint after her. She had barely made it through the door when she was barreled into from behind, her ale flying from her hand and into the wall, horn clashing to the floor. The momentum carried them forward and she hit the bed. She was spared only seconds before she felt the weight of them both collapse on top of her, all the air leaving her lungs in a loud ‘oof.’ 

“You will ruin my dress!” She protested through her attempt to get a full breath of air and felt the weight of one of them removed from her. The other, however, only seemed to get heavier as she felt his weight shift more towards her head and chest, pinning her further beneath him. 

“I will ruin more than your dress,” Hvitserk’s promise was low to keep his words between them alone, and his lips brushed the lobe of her ear, sending white hot tingles through her core. His tongue swept gently were his lips just were, followed by a quick nip with his teeth. Her body was extremely aware of his weight bearing down on her, and it screamed at the loss when he finally pushed himself off. She rolled herself onto her back, chest heaving as she inhaled a few deep breaths. Pushing herself up onto her hands, she glanced between them. 

“Can I borrow a tunic?” She questioned, her voice coming out slightly hoarse, and Ubbe hummed in acknowledgement, tearing his eyes from her. Going to his chest, he retrieved a large blue tunic and tossed it onto the bed in front of her. Grabbing ahold of the shirt, she rose to her feet and Hvitserk quickly hovered closer to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently nudged her to turn around, which she did. His fingers undid the buttons they had put into place hours before, and her reaction to his touch was only heightened the second time. Once he was done with his task, he backed away to allow her the space to change. While she undressed and slipped into the more comfortable attire, the brothers both did the same. 

She threw the furs down on Hvitserk’s bed and crawled into the middle before covering herself with them. She laid down onto her back and watched as they both approached her from different sides, their bare chests gleaming in the soft glow of the firelight. Her fingers dug into the fur surrounding her and she thought she could feel every strand beneath her touch. Her tongue snaked out to wet her lips and she shifted slightly, the sight before her causing her core to stir. They both clambered into the bed on either side of her, sliding under the cover of the fur with her. She lifted her head as Ubbe slipped his arm under her neck, snuggling her into his side as he sprawled besides her on his back as well. Hvitserk chose to lay on his stomach and he tucked his head under her arm to rest it on her chest, one arm slung over her waist. One of her hands lifted to trail over Ubbe’s jaw back and forth, while the other smoothed across the expanse of Hvitserk’s back slowly. They laid in silence for a long while— long enough for the fire to slowly burn down to nothing but coals. Asta could feel in the way their chests rose and fell as one that their breathing had synched together. Her ears rushed with the sounds of their breath and her own heartbeat. She could feel liquid fire coursing through her veins still. 

“Promise me you will both return,” Ubbe whispered softly into the darkness and Asta’s hand left his jaw to seek out his own. He felt her grasping at him blindly and moved his hand towards hers. She instantly threaded their fingers together, letting them rest on his chest in a knot. 

“Promise,” Asta said with a squeeze to his digits. 

“Always,” Hvitserk added softly, and Ubbe hummed in reply. Asta felt his fingers go slack in her own a few minutes later and she knew that with the reassurance, he had drifted off to sleep. Hvitserk had been drawing patterns into Asta’s skin through the fabric of her borrowed shirt, and the burn of his consistent touch had caused her breathing to spike. His fingers trailed from where they were rested at Asta’s waist, across the expanse of her stomach. They came to stop at her hip, and his thumb pressed soft circles against the bone. A pleased sigh slipped from her mouth and she scratched at his shoulder lightly with her nails. Hvitserk’s movements paused momentarily and he used his other arm to prop himself up onto his forearm, so his head and upper chest were now hovering right before her. Her arm was still hooked around his neck where it had been resting previously. She could just make out the outline of his features in the dark and he resumed kneading her hip beneath his fingers. His eyes focused on her face, which was exposed to the small source of light left in the room while Hvitserk’s features were hidden in the shadows it cast. He dug his fingers into her flesh, dragging his nails across her skin as his hand traveled to her thigh. Her breath caught in her throat and she quickly focused on Ubbe’s deep breathing, trying to calm her own heartbeat.

Her efforts were short lived as Hvitserk closed the gap between them, smashing their mouths together. Her lips came to life beneath his, and his hand slipped between her legs, wrapping around the thigh closest to him as he squeezed at her skin. Her core tightened as her back arched at his touch, the muscles in her thighs clenching under his tight grip. His tongue pushed its way into her mouth hungrily, and she weaved her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging on it. Her tongue battled against his, the hot organs sliding against one another as his hand left her leg to trail up her stomach again, this time under the tunic. His hand traced over the indents of her ribs, his fingers fitting into the crevices as his lips broke from hers to leave a chain of wet, open mouthed kisses along her jaw to her neck, careful not to jostle Ubbe’s arm in his assault. Every nerve in her body was prickling, reacting to the pleasure flooding through her overstimulated system. The mixture of ale, shrooms and pleasure had caused a dull fog to settle over her mind. She clenched her fists and when she squeezed onto the flesh of Ubbe’s hand, she remembered exactly where they were. 

“Hvitserk-,” her eyes flew open as she started to warn him, but he swallowed her words with his greedy mouth and the thought melted from her mind as she was consumed with him. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand which was hot and heavy against her sensitive skin. The tips of his fingers had just brushed over her budding nipple when Ubbe let out a soft snore in his sleep. They both froze, Asta’s hand tangled in Hvitserk’s hair still, her other remaining in Ubbe’s. His hand was lost beneath her shirt as their lips hovered against one another’s, their breath mingling between them as the taste of the other clung to their lips. A soft whine rumbled in his chest and he retracted his limb from the depths of fabric it was lost beneath. He placed another array of kisses to her jaw softly as he lowered himself back down flat to his stomach before burying the side of his face into Asta’s chest. His arm settled around her waist again, though it wrapped around her tighter this time, his hand slipping under her to cup her backside. He was all but laying on top of her, his whole body enveloping hers save her head. Her hand untangled from his braids to rest on his back, drawing runes into his bare skin with the tip of her finger until she calmed her body enough for sleep to overtake her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t wait to upload this chapter either because I’m excited to share and work on the upcoming chapters. Poorly edited so please point out any mistakes you find so I can fix them!

Asta peeled her eyes open the next day to find Hvitserk had disappeared and Ubbe was awake, trapped under her arm. With the absence of Hvitserk’s restraining weight, she had sprawled out across Ubbe’s torso and half the bed. She yawned as she curled into a small ball, nuzzling her face into Ubbe’s chest as she closed her eyes again. There was a hide over the sole window in the room, peeks of the sun shining through the cracks and she wanted to hide her sensitive eyes from it forever.

“You could have woke me,” she mumbled, voice heavy with sleep still. Her mouth was dry after her nights rest and she ran her tongue across the back of her teeth. 

“Where else have I to be?” he replied, encircling both of his arms around her. His hand ran from shoulder blade to shoulder blade and back, her body relaxing even more into his against the touch. “Hvitserk has already packed. He went to bring his things to the boat and grab yours as well. Said he would bring a change of clothes for you.” She hummed in reply, blinking her eyes open once again. They slowlyadjusted to the small amount of light and she tipped her head to squint up at him. 

“When will the ships be leaving?” asked Asta as she started to become more aware of the world around her. 

“An hour or so,” Ubbe said softly and she frowned, placing a hand on his chest to support herself. Sitting up, she stared down the slope of her nose at him, eyes fleeting across his facial features. 

“You really should have woke me up,” she chided, eyebrows drawing together in the center of her forehead as she hit his chest gently. One of his large hands came to cover her own; fingers folding over the back of hers. 

“You needed the sleep. You will not have a good nights rest until only the Gods know how long,” he reminded her sternly in return, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear with his other hand. “I will go grab breakfast while you wait for Hvitserk,” he added, pulling himself to sit up as well. His lips pressed against the tip of her nose and then he stood up, pulling a shirt from the floor and slipping it over his head. He went to the door and left her with a smile over his shoulder. Asta looked around the room and began to unknot her hair from the night before, raking her fingers through it absentmindedly to get out the tangles. She left the little braids twisted in and added them to two thick braids she pulled tight to her head and tied together at the base of her skull, letting the ends of her wavy hair go free. She had just finished winding a cord around the tendrils when the door flew open and Hvitserk entered, her clothes draped over one arm while he munched on an apple with the other. Kicking the door shut behind him, he sauntered to stand in front of her and held out the clothes as he took a bite of the bright red fruit. 

“Thank you,” she murmured as she rose from the bed finally, taking the clothes from him. Her muscles screamed in protest, begging her to seek the warmth of the bed once more. 

“Course,” he mumbled through a mouthful of apple and she scrunched her nose up at the full view she had of his chewed food. Putting a few feet of space between them, she stepped into the pants he had provided her and began to change. He took her previous seat and watched her back with attentive eyes as he thoughtfully finished off his apple. He devoured the way her pale skin pulled taunt against her ribs, shifting over the bones and only emphasizing the hollowed space between them as they poked out of her back.

Ubbe came back in with a large platter of food then and set it down at the small table located on the side of the room opposite their beds, by the door, as she tugged her hair out from the collar of her clean tunic. He threw the hide aside as he passed by it, allowing the sunshine to penetrate the room and brighten it up. Hvitserk immediately got up and meandered over to the table, tossing the core into the pit of the fire to burn later. There was an assortment of fruit as well as some chicken and stew. She knew he had to have pulled strings to get chicken made so early in the day and her stomach rumbled its delight as she reached for a piece of the poultry. The three of them settled onto the bench against the wall by the table with their sides pressed so tight against one another it was hard to tell where one ended and the other started. Ubbe was seated between them and Hvitserk’s arm was pressed flush against his brothers as he slurped up stew from a bowl. Asta had tucked her ankles into Ubbe’s, the weight of her thigh bearing against his own where it rested next to his. 

She was plopping grapes into her mouth when he shifted between them, digging his hand into his pocket to retrieve two pieces of folded up cloth. He chewed on his lower lip, staring at the weight in his hand for a moments pause before he held one out to Hvitserk and then the other to Asta. Both of them gingerly took it, unsure what it was. Ubbe raised his eyebrows and bowed his head, signaling them to unwrap the cloth and discover what lie inside. They both hastily indulged and something fell into Asta’s lap. She saw the silver reflecting the rays of sunshine and she delicate grabbed the pendant between her fingers, running her thumb lightly over the jewelry. It was a silver necklace with a triquetra knot, and the metalwork was so intricate she knew it had to have cost him a fortune. She looked up and meet his piercing eyes as he tugged a matching one from below his shirt. 

“I thought it was fitting for us, no?” He broke the silence as his gaze fleeted between the two of them. Hvitserk turned to clap his brother on the back of his neck, smashing their foreheads roughly together and Ubbe returned the gesture in kind. They shoved against one another locked in an affectionate head bump until the sound of a horn blaring broke the spell on them. They separated from one another and with a final shove to Ubbe’s shoulder, Hvitserk was on his feet. His eyes shifted between the two of them, his tongue running over his teeth before he spoke. 

“I will meet you at the docks,” the younger brother offered and tipped his head as he flashed them a quick smile. He made to leave and with a final glance over his shoulder, he exited the room, shutting the door behind him. When she heard the quiet click she pressed forward and placed a soft kiss to his lips, moving their mouths against each other’s in a sweet moment. It was the first kiss they shared where they were both sober or older than the age of 14 and she was hesitant at first but quickly washed away her worry as he returned the gesture. His hands came to rest softly against both her cheeks, his thumbs smoothing across her jaw. Her body hummed as their lips became familiar with the others. When she pulled away, her eyes grew wide again and a grin spread across her face. She reached up and grabbed ahold of his hands, lowering them between their bodies to press the jewelry into his palms. 

“Thank you, Ubbe,” she said gratefully, turning on the bench so he could secure the necklace around her throat. He knotted the thin leather at the nape of her neck, placing a soft kiss to the skin there after it was set in place. 

“Take care of him, please,” his whisper traveled to her ears and she looked over her shoulder to find his blue eyes with her green. She nodded her head reassuringly, wetting her lips quickly before she spoke. 

“I always do,” she tried to joke but he shook his head, eyes remaining serious. 

“You know what I mean,” he countered, “But, you must take care of yourself, too.” His scolding caused her to roll her eyes, turning around to place a hand on the stumble adorning his cheek. 

“I will be fine. Who better to keep his head on, hm?” she ducked her head, tilting it to the right slightly to make sure he met her eyes. “And I promised you I would return, so I will. Even the Seer has said as much,” her placating words eased some of the tension in his rigid muscles; she could feel his jaw lax under her touch. He nodded his head and let out a sigh, raising a hand to her face again. The backs of his knuckles traced her jawline and he sucked his lower lip between his teeth when she leaned into his touch. She wasn’t fully sure what was transpiring between her and Ubbe in the moment but the fact that they may never see each other again had blurred any prior boundaries and kept the questions on the tips of their tongues at bay. He pressed another brief kiss to her mouth before he let his hand drop to his side, her face tipping slightly where his hand just was at the loss of contact. 

“We should head out now,” he said dryly as the sound of the horn blaring again seeped through the walls of the room. She nodded her head in agreement but he did not make a move to stand until she mustered up the might to do so first. They were inches from crossing the threshold when Ubbe grabbed ahold of her arm and spun her around. He feverishly pressed his lips to hers, kissing her with a hardness that outmatched their shared kisses over the previous minutes. His hands came to cup her cheeks, his thumbs dragging over the smooth skin of her face, but they did not stop there— they drifted over her neck, her shoulders, her back and onwards. His hands traced over every inch of body, like an artist molding and sculpting his latest creation beneath his fingertips, touching every part of her that he could without breaking the connection between their lips. Asta tempestuously kissed him back, allowing his excursion of her body until he was satisfied enough to pull away, their heavy breaths mingling between them. 

After steadying her breathing, Asta grabbed ahold of his hand and gave it a squeeze before using their connected fingers to guide him through the hall. They pushed their way out into the open air and the hum of the town filled their ears, vibrating through the bones in Asta’s body. She led him down the path to the front of the docks, near the biggest ship which she would be traveling on alongside Bjorn and Hvitserk. As the reached the peak of the crowd she could see Hvitserk, Sigurd and Aslaug as well as Lagertha and Torvi, waiting to bid the warriors a safe journey. Ivar was nowhere to be seen. Hvitserk was busy embracing Sigurd when they stepped up behind him, their fingers sliding from one another’s as Ubbe fell into place besides his family and Asta settled just behind Hvitserk. He said goodbye to Sigurd before he moved onto Ubbe for a final goodbye. Once again he smashed their foreheads together, gripping the side of Ubbe’s head against his large palm. 

“May the Gods be with you, brother,” Ubbe grinned. Sigurd offered her a kind smile and held his arms open slightly as she hovered in front of him. She shuffled closer and drew him in for a tight hug. When they dropped their arms from one another he dipped his head forward, his arm coming to cross his chest as his hand formed a fist. 

“May you wet your blade with blood,” he gave her the same departing blessing he had offered his brother. Asta trailed behind Hvitserk and was onto Ubbe next, and her hands subconsciously drifted to the necklace that lay against the hollow of her collarbone. He gave her a knowing smile and she rushed into his arms one last time, crushing his body to her own. A stray tear fell from her eye and she was grateful it quickly transferred to the fabric of Ubbe’s tunic, disappearing as if it was never there. She felt as if she was leaving behind a piece of her along with Ubbe. Without a care that Aslaug was right beside him, she pulled back just enough to press a kiss dangerously close to the corner of his mouth, on his cheek. He ran his tongue over his lips before he spoke.

“Until we meet again,” he said softly and she nodded her head, slipping out of his grasp. 

“Until we meet again,” she echoed and then drifted to stand in front of Aslaug. She twisted her hands nervously in front of her before she bowed slightly, dipping her chin towards her chest. “Queen Aslaug. May the Gods protect you,” she said politely and she swore she saw the ghost of a smile toying on Aslaug’s lips. 

“May our fates guide us,” Aslaug replied cryptically and Asta kissed the back of her teeth at the woman’s answer. She wanted to pry and ask if she had seen something, but she knew better than to waste her breath. With a final tip of her head, Asta made her way to board the boat. Her eyes scanned across the crowd that had gathered to see them off, and her gaze lingered on Lagertha’s lithe form. The shield maiden met Asta’s gaze and offered the girl a kind smile. Asta grinned in return and used the side of the boat to launch herself into it. She had always admired Lagertha, even receiving a few secret training lessons from her in the dark of the night when she knew Aslaug was fast asleep. But, she knew that the current situation between Ragnar’s ex-lovers had already peaked without the added drama, so while her respect for Lagertha was ever present, she had kept her distance. It had never stopped her from day dreaming of joining Lagertha and her famous pack of shield maidens in another life, though. As Asta settled into the boat, disappointment washed over her nerves. She had hoped to see her father before her departure and she knew the chances were slim but still, she had hoped. Her eyes were pulled from the crowd when she felt a hand envelope her shoulder and her gaze traveled up the length of the attached arm for the source. It was Bjorn and his eyes softened as they met hers; they held an understanding in them that caused her to look away under its weight. After a soft squeeze, he let his hand fall from her as he stepped away to help steer the ship off the port. 

The boat began to sway as the waves carried it off the beach of Kattegat, and Asta’s stomach twisted in anticipation as she watched Ubbe’s form slowly starting to shrink. Hvitserk found his way to her side after he finished helping to heave the ropes into the ship that had once anchored them. He leaned against her form, his side pressing flat against hers. His fingers found her own and he threaded them together as they breached the safety of the small inlet that housed the shores of Kattegat and hit open water. On the end of the cliff to their right, Asta could see an ant-sized body sitting on the hill. Her eyes narrowed as she brought her free hand up to her eyes to block the peaking sun. A soft gasp escaped her lips as she realized the man was her father. Her heart lurched in her chest and she gripped onto Hvitserk’s hand a little tighter. A bitter sweetness flooded her veins at the knowledge he had witnessed her departure, but it ached to know he had not found it within himself to tell her goodbye. Following her gaze, Hvitserk’s eyes narrowed slightly and he gently pulled on her hand, commanding her attention as he led her to the front of the ship. 

“Come. Let us admire the view before we tire of it,” he said softly, weaving between the bodies that scrambled around the deck as they all began to prepare for the long voyage. She allowed him to direct their way, and she cast her gaze to the never ending horizon ahead of them as they reached the bow of the ship. His hand slipped from hers only to wrap his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into the touch. Her head fell onto his shoulder and tilted his own to rest on hers. The sun was high in the sky, reflecting off the water in bright glares but they looked on anyways, silence settling over them as they each battled their own thoughts. 

Asta’s mind was all over the place— what both the Seer and Aslaug had said had disturbed her internal balance. She had tried not to ponder the Seers words too much, but Aslaug’s mention of fate had her brain spiraling. Ever since she had lured her mother to her death, Asta had feared what else fate had in store for her. What the future held for her was not something she dwelled on often anymore, having tired herself of the ideas long ago. It had worn her thin and drove her mad for years, trying to find an explanation of the way of the Gods. It had driven her into a small corner of her mind, where she burrowed away for shelter from the stormy thoughts. But as of late, it was a big part of why she had decided to join Bjorn on the Mediterranean— besides Hvitserk, of course. She needed to feel there was more that life had to offer and the thrills of the adventure would surely awaken her cold blood at the very least. Her eyes flashed to Hvitserk, whose own were still lost to the sea. His eyebrows had a slight pull to them and she withheld herself from brushing the crease out with her thumb. She found herself worrying for her companion and praying to the Gods that regardless what happened to her, they’d keep him safe. 

Hvitserk’s own thoughts were consumed with the pending raid, and the blood coursing through him heated at the anticipation of new lands, new treasures, and new blood. This was his first raid and he had waited on the tips of his toes for many Summers for this day to come. He was built for war, both mentally and physically. Even with the almost constant curve of his shoulders as he hunched into himself, he still towered over most others. When he stretched his long limbs to their full potential, he was easily the tallest of his brothers besides Bjorn. His shoulders lacked the muscle years of battle would eventually sculpt, but his wide shoulders and thick ribcage provided the perfect base for him to develop into a weapon of war with time. He had a sharp mind and when adrenaline flooded every fiber of his being, all his senses went into overdrive. 

He was ecstatic to finally have to opportunity to see the battlefield himself and showcase his potential. To finally be able to prove himself good at something. To finally be able to let himself go completely. He felt guilty for feeling extremely torn over the lack of Ubbe’s presence. They had never been separated and he was pained that it had finally happened, but he was excited to finally escape the shadow of his brother. He would never forgot the first time he saw war with his own eyes when Ubbe, Asta and himself barely escaped the attack on their camp in Paris. The way the bodies had dropped and their deep red blood painted the sands of the beach, only to have the pull of the tide pollute the river as well. 

“Having doubts?” Asta finally pulled him back from his thoughts. His eyes flicked to hers and one corner of his mouth tugged up. 

“Not at all. I know we were meant to be here. The die has been cast,” he replied matter of factly, squeezing her shoulder.

“I suppose it has,” she agreed begrudgingly, her lips pursing against her teeth. 

“Then let fate guide our journey.” There was that word again. She scoffed softly and was grateful to see Bjorn sifting his way through the Vikings onboard towards them. She inclined her head towards him and stepped back from Hvitserk, who turned his shoulders to intercept Bjorn. 

“There are some things you should know,” Bjorn started off and both of their eyebrows shot to the sky. 

“This sounds promising,” Hvitserk jested as he leaned back against the side of the boat, crossing his arms over his chest. Bjorn looked around before corralling Asta closer to Hvitserk with a hand on her back to save his words from prying ears. He quickly bent to tug the worn map from his boot and unfolded it to lay flat against one palm while he used his other hand to point. 

“See here?” He gestured to an area that was lost on Asta. She pretended to understand what she was looking at with a nod of her head and a hum. Hvitserk was trying to hold in a laugh because he knew she did not know the map or the land it offered and she could see his shoulders shaking in the edge of her vision. Asta shot him an irritated scowl and he just smiled toothily in return. “Frankia,” Bjorn finished and Hvitserk finally grew serious. 

“Are you going to try and contact Uncle Rollo?” he asked, bringing a hand to scratch over the scruff around his lips. 

“It is the quickest way and also the safest travel wise,” Bjorn pointed out, frowning slightly as he looked over the rest of the map in front of them. Hvitserk dropped his hands from his face to cross them over his chest again. He gave a small bob of his head after a moment, lifting a shoulder in a small shrug. 

“I do believe the Gods are with us— particularly you, Bjorn. If this is what you advise we do then it is what we shall do,” the younger brother agreed, his eyes flashing towards Asta in silent question of her thoughts. She gnawed on her lower lip before speaking up. 

“I agree. I trust in your decisions,” Asta finally said, grinning at the both of them. “Besides, what have we to lose?” Bjorn clicked his tongue against his teeth and Hvitserk chuckled, shoving against her shoulder. 

“Then it is settled,” Bjorn decided, rolling the map up again before lowering to a knee to tuck it away safely into its home in his boot. He stood straight and clapped a hand against both of their shoulders with a smile. “We should arrive in a few days time.” With that he was off, he feet carrying him swiftly towards the ropes of the sails to navigate. 

“Is it too early for a nap?” Hvitserk grumbled after letting out a large yawn. 

“I can rebraid your hair while you sleep,” she offered. With a grin he pushed off the side of the boat to find some extra furs to sprawl out on. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long to upload. I‘ve been sitting on it for a week and half tweaking it because I’m not super happy with how dry it is but I realized I just had to push through it and move on at this point. I’ve already started the next chapter and promise it’ll have a little more pizzazz than this one did. Thanks to everyone who has stuck around this far!!

After days of travel, Asta quickly grew restless. She knew Hvitserk had to be itching as well, but he was containing it far better than she was. She couldn’t sit still, shifting her weight from side to side. So far the weather had been mostly kind to them, only a small drizzle the night prior which had been refreshing rather than aggravating. Asta had gladly unraveled her hair and let the water provide a semi-wash, grateful to wipe away some of the stench of travel. She was currently tapping both her feet and her fingers against the floor of the ship where her and Hvitserk sat under the shade of a fur carefully tied off to escape the harsh sun. He was resting his head against the side of the ship, swaying with the lull of the current. With a huff, Hvitserk opened his eyes which flicked towards her. He pushed to his feet, holding a hand out to help her up. With a raised eyebrow, she took it.

“Let’s go. We can row. Put your energy to use at least,” and with that, he yanked her to her feet. She scowled at the back of his head but followed him anyways to the middle of the ship where the paddles were. Hvitserk tapped two men that shared a bench on the shoulders to draw their attention. 

“Here. Let us relieve you for the time being,” he offered with a warm smile which they returned eagerly. 

“Thank you, Prince Hvitserk,” one of them mumbled and the other dipped their head. Asta rolled her eyes as she filled one of the seats and grabbed ahold of the oar. Catching the gesture, Hvitserk sat next to her and nudged her shoulder with his own. 

“What?” He questioned, grabbing ahold as well to help her. They had made it from the open sea to the coastline and were swiftly approaching Frankia. Bjorn had predicted it would be a few hours at most and that had been hours ago. Asta’s anticipation for the upcoming encounter had only continued to build as time pressed on. 

“Thank you, Prince Hvitserk,” she said in a mockingly high pitched toned, pushing her shoulder into his in return. He chuckled as he looked at her from the corner of his eye, a smile cracking his face. 

“What can I say? The people love me,” he teased and it was Asta’s turn to snicker. He just shot her a look and she mirrored his mock seriousness head on. They shared a small spurt of laughter when his face finally cracked into a grin. As the sound died out, a comfortable silence settled over them and they continued to row. Asta cast her eyes towards the nearby ships, just feet away from them now as they eased through the water. She spotted Earl Gorm a few boats to the left and he caught her eye, tipping his head in her direction. She offered a coy grin in return before averting her attention back to Hvitserk. 

“I thought Bjorn said it would not be much longer,” she complained and suddenly her head was snapped back from a tug on her braid. She whirled around to find the assailant, but quickly settled with a soft blush of embarrassment riddling her cheeks when she saw who it was.  Bjorn.  A sheepish smile worked across her face. “Just the man I was looking for,” she joked and he rolled his eyes, but his lips turned up into a smile that was rare these days. 

“Look, there,” he pointed straight ahead and she stood up to see what he was talking about. “It is Frankia. We are almost there.” 

“All my swift rowing,” she mused, eyes squinting against the sun as she spotted the walls along the cliff line. 

“Something like that,” Hvitserk mumbled, rising to his feet as well. 

“Prepare yourselves to dock,” Bjorn commanded and took his leave to find Floki. Asta poked her tongue out at his retreating figure earning a chuckle from Hvitserk. She shuffled to the small section of the boat they’d laid claim to, where their belongings were stored under the fur awning they’d created. She squatted down and grabbed ahold of Hvitserk’s sword, tossing it up to him. He caught it with ease and slid it into its home at his hip. Grabbing ahold of her own, she retreated from the covering to slide it into its sheath. 

“Hold on,” Hvitserk grunted as he fell to his knees to dig through his sack. She fiddled with the handle of her blade as she turned back around to watch him rummage through his things. Keeping the object in his hands hidden from her, he straightened out and beckoned her closer with a jerk of his chin. “I had this made for you, to keep close and hidden. There’s a sheath...,” he fumbled with the leather in his hand, pulling the dagger from the small holder but keeping it mostly hidden within his closed digits. “I was going to give it to you before the raid but I thought... Well, just in case,” he added and rolled his large hand over to fully reveal a small dagger. It had a green stone welded into the tip of the handle and the small hilt had a raven carved into it, along with runes that stood for protection. Asta lightly ghosted the pads of her fingers over the metal, eyes blown wide at the beautiful craftsmanship. She glanced up at him before gingerly grabbing it with both her hands. Holding it up in the air, she spun it around to appreciate the way the rays of sun reflected off it. 

“Careful, you might blind me with it,” he teased her, admiring her affectionately. He was thrilled she loved it. He had hand picked each and every rune with precision, sneaking away to the blacksmith to help shape the dagger himself. She glanced at him, still beaming, before shifting to press the blade against his throat, barely touching the skin. He didn’t even flinch, a grin breaking out across his face. “You like it then?” he mused and she quickly dropped the weapon to pull him into a tight hug. 

“I love it!” she exclaimed, parting from him to bend and situate the strap around her calf. Hvitserk gently pushed her braid over her shoulder as he watched her slip the dagger into place. She straightened out and met his gaze, eyes gleaming with joy. Asta grabbed ahold to the collar of his furs and pulled him closer, forcing him to hunch over so she could reach his forehead to place a kiss there. “If we die, I am glad it will be together,” she joked, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue before adding, “We can haunt Ubbe that way.” He snorted, shaking his head as she smoothed over his collar before letting it go. He quickly dipped his head and snuck a brief barely there peck to her lips before pulling away with a smirk. 

“As fun as that sounds, I have no intention of letting either of us die. Now come,” he flicked the tip of her nose and turned on his heels, making his way towards the front of the boat where Bjorn stood. Asta growled softly and thumped the back of his head as she followed behind him. Hvitserk just grinned over his shoulder before he came to a stop besides his brother. Floki and Helga were already by his side, Floki armed with a battle axe. They were approaching a large amassment of ships and her eyes scanned the faces in search of Rollo. She did not find him, however, and scoffed softly at the thought of him waiting comfortably tucked away in the castle, fattening with food and age. 

“State your business, Heathen,” seethed one of the men from the Frankish ships. 

“I am here to speak to my Uncle Rollo,” Bjorn hollered back in their language and the soldier exchanged a look with the man next to him. They quickly shared words before turning back to the Vikings. 

“You may send a ship over and we will bring a small group to see the Duke. The rest of you will remain,” the soldier shouted back and Bjorn turned to address their small collection of allies. He cocked an eyebrow at Hvitserk who offered a half smirk to his older brother. 

“We are with you, brother.”

“I am a glad. Two nephews will surely be better than one, no? I am sure Harald and Halfdan will want to come as well. Floki, you should be there, too.” 

“Then I will come as well,” Helga interjected and Floki turned his wild, wide orbs upon his wife. 

“Like Hel you will.”

“I do not want to hear it, Floki. Where you go, I go. I have told you this before and I have meant it every time,” she said steadily, meeting his gaze head on. After a moment he nodded stiffly, though he was still glowering. Harald and Halfdan had rowed their boat close enough to hop aboard with little aid. The brothers quickly joined the small group and the crew pushed the ships apart so they could row the single boat forward, towards the Frankish fleet. The small group transferred to the Frankish ship and although they were easily outnumbered six to one, including Helga, the soldiers were stiff and jumpy. Their hands rested on their swords, some already half drawn in preparation for a surprise attack from the Vikings. Asta smirked to herself at the thought of instilling such fear into a bunch of Christians. Her veins sung with pride to be a daughter of Odin. Bjorn exchanged a few words with the captain of the ship that were lost on her and Asta leaned into Hvitserk’s side to whisper in his ear. 

“Do you know what they are saying?” A few nearby soldiers twitched, their eyes darting to the pair. They did not know what was being said and Asta used it to her advantage. She tucked her head into the crook of Hvitserk’s shoulder, acting as if she was just seeking innocent comfort from a companion. His arms instantly wrapped around her and he pressed his lips to her temple, eyeing the soldiers over the top of her head. 

“Barely. They are going to take us to Rollo... Apparently he is waiting... he saw the flags,” he mumbled against her skin and she nodded slightly before pulling away. She saw the soldiers ease slightly as they separated. The short row upstream was silent the rest of the way, neither Viking nor Franks willing to break it. Once they had docked, the captain and his crew corralled them through the streets of the bustling city towards the castle. Asta absorbed all the new sights around her in quiet awe. Her eyes were wide as saucers as she took in just how large Frankia was beyond its walls of defense as well as their seemingly endless rows of streets jammed with people. The Franks skittishly stayed to the sides of the paths as the group passed, averting their eyes. Only a few were brave enough to spare glances at the proclaimed Heathens. As they entered the enormous castle, Asta felt Hvitserk’s fingers come to rest on her elbow. He gently guided her closer while lowering his head. 

“Make sure you hold your tongue. It is not our place,” he whispered only for her ears and let her go just as they pushed into a large, open room. Furrowing her eyebrows together, she shot him a tempered look before lowering her chin in a tight bob of agreement. Rollo was seated upon a throne with a dark haired woman to his left, her lap littered with three children haphazardly. 

“Do not do anything stupid, Floki,” Asta overheard Bjorn muttering as they cautiously entered, settling to stand in front of the thrones. She was grateful she wasn’t the  only  one they felt needed reminding. 

“I have never done anything stupid in my life,” Floki retorted, eyeing the betrayer as he stood, arms spreading wide to match the smirk he wore. “Though, I am contemplating whether dying would be better than dealing with this scum.” Asta’s face twisted up in amusement as she listened to his rambling.

Rollo began to speak in Frankish, though she did not know what he said beyond their names, so she assumed he was making some form of introductions to the others in the room. He continued to get closer to the group until he stood a few feet in front of Bjorn, eyes fleeting to each face before him before he finally spoke in their native language. 

“I don’t want to apologize. What would be the point. We are where we are. The gods have spoken,” he rumbled and with a flick of his arm he turned to gesture to the seated woman. “This is my wife, Gisla. And our children, William, Marcellus, Celsa.” Upon hearing his name, the eldest stuck his tongue out at Floki, who raised his eyebrows in slight appreciation of the gesture. There was some wild flare in them yet. Hvitserk and Asta laughed together at the interaction and Gisla quickly had the maid escort the children from the room with a sweep of her hands. Finally standing, she looked over the newcomers with what could only be described as unbridled distaste. Asta stiffened slightly as she watched the Princess, who was making snide remarks in Frankish while flinging her arms about. 

“My wife wants to know why you are here,” Rollo translated, choosing softer words than his wife had. “So do I.” Bjorn shifted to grab the map from his boot and the soldiers surrounding them quickly withdrew their weapons, pointing them towards the Vikings. He quirked an eyebrow up at his Uncle, who after a moments hesitation signaled for his men to stand down. They did so hesitantly and Bjorn pulled the map free, smoothing it out in his hands. 

“I want to go here,” he gestured to the large blue splotch on the cloth, “to this sea. But, I have to sail along your coastline to get there. I need safe passage for my fleet.” 

“In return for what?” Rollo immediately rebutted, glancing up from the map to make eye contact with Bjorn. 

“In return for not attacking your villages and towns, like we should do,” Floki couldn’t bite his tongue any longer and the snide remark hissed from between his teeth. Ignoring him, Rollo gently pulled the map from Bjorn’s fingers to examine it closer. 

“May I take this?” He asked, though he made it clear Bjorn had no true say in the matter as he turned away on his heels. 

“No!” Bjorn shouted, lurching forward after his Uncle and the map. The guards threw themselves between the two large men to restrain Bjorn. Asta withdrew her weapon along with Hvitserk and Floki, taking up defensive stances though none of them moved to engage. They knew when they were on the losing side. As the men disarmed the Vikings, Floki just laughed. “How long do you think you can keep us as prisoners, traitor? We have 60 ships outside your ports full of Vikings! Do you not think they will come knocking soon, if we do not return?” Rollo said nothing as they were dragged from the room, thrashing against the hands and limbs stopping them from much movement. 

“Let it be,” Bjorn commanded and they all shot him their own bewildered look. Yet, they continued on without much of a fight. Harald and Halfdan shared many wordless exchanges on the walk with slight tilts of their heads and narrowing of their eyes. Asta watched the two intently, an uneasy feeling building in her stomach. She had successfully avoided the two thus far into their journey and knew it was only because they had their own ships. Harald caught her gaze and shot her a lopsided grin matched with a wink and she quickly averted her eyes. The guards led them into a damp cellar, where they proceeded to chain the now captives to the wallsSilence encompassed the room for a long stretch after the guards filtered out. Asta was shackled to the wall besides Hvitserk, who had stretched the length of his chains taunt to sit beside her, their sides flush against another’s. Though he had been quiet up until now, filtering through his thoughts, the King finally spoke up. 

“This is an interesting place you have brought us to,” Harald said sarcastically, yanking against the metal that held him to a support beam. “I hope it is not the last place on earth I see.” 

“Why are you not talking?” Halfdan cut in next, thrashing against the iron around his wrists. The clanking rattled their ears, echoing off the practically bare walls. “Could it be because you know you made a bad judgement? We totally believed in you and thought the Gods did also,” he bitterly stated. 

“Still. You must have a plan for getting us out of this mess,” Harald shot his brother a warning look before averting his gaze to Bjorn, who simply rested with his head against the wall, eyes closed. “I am sure we would all like to hear what it is.”

“How could you ever think you could do business with Rollo?” Halfdan pulls aggressively against his restraints again, Bjorn’s silence agitating him to no end. “He’s killed hundreds of our people. He’s lied and cheated, double crossed his own brother, renounced the gods, committed every crime known to man! We should have attacked his fleet. At least we could have fought and died like Vikings, instead of sheep,” he screeched, chest heaving and his wild hair askew across his face from his fit. The creak of the door opening pulled all their attention from Halfdan. A guard entered the room and immediately sought out Bjorn, undoing the lock around his wrists. Asta instinctively reached for the dagger at her ankle, but Hvitserk’s hand snapped out to stop her wrist, giving a tight shake of his head. The guard grabbed Bjorn by the back of the arm, helping heave him to his feet before he shoved him forward in front of him. Bjorn dipped his head and made his way towards the doorway, the rest of the group intently watching him go. 

“Do not disappoint us, Ironside,” Harald shouted as the door shut, once again leaving them in silence. With the commotion settling, Asta began to shiver softly as she realized just how damp it was in the cellar. Her hands came to rest at the pendant around her neck, digging the sharp edges into the pads of her fingers. She glanced at Floki and Helga, huddled together in the corner adjacent from Hvitserk and her. They were exchanging whispers and from the look on Floki’s face, he was reminding her exactly why he had not wanted her to come along with them. 

“Come closer,” Hvitserk rasped as another shiver racked her body. He shifted against the wall to open his chest to her more, the best he could in his current situation. She pulled against her own chains to tuck her face into his neck, nuzzling her chilled nose against the warmth of his skin. He flinched against the cold instinctively before resting his head atop hers. “We just have to wait until they talk it out,” he said softly. She groaned against his skin, pulling her knees to her chest to rest her tired arms on them. 

“I hope it is soon. Freezing is no death for a Viking, Halfdan was right about that,” she complained, twisting to remove her face from his throat once she was satisfied with the restored warmth in the tip of her nose. She leaned her back against his chest, tipping her head onto his shoulder so she could look up at him. 

“I told you, I have no intention of letting either of us die. Besides, skin to skin contact is the best source of heat,” he teased, nipping at the lobe of her ear. She gently elbowed him in the side, a laugh spilling from her lips. 

“You are the only pers-“

“Do the two of you ever stop?!” Halfdan growled at them, eyes narrowing in their direction. Asta returned the glare and Hvitserk just chuckled, amused at the scene he’d caused. He shot Halfdan a smug smirk before he dipped his face into Asta’s neck, blowing his warm breath across the expanse of her cool skin. 

“I wish the dagger would work on these stupid chains so I could cut his tongue out,” she grumbled softly and Hvitserk’s smile grew against her throat. 


End file.
